


She Who Hunts Alone

by Psuedo_sweetheart



Category: When The Night Comes (Visual Novel)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 41,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psuedo_sweetheart/pseuds/Psuedo_sweetheart
Summary: A look into the town of Lunaris from the perspective of a grizzled veteran with one foot in the grave- literally.  Meaning, she's missing a leg, among other things.Haunted by her past in more ways than one, this hunter isn't looking to do anything but solve the murder mystery and go back to the deep woods where she belongs.  But, telling everyone she's too old for this shit hasn't gotten her anywhere yet, so she has to learn to put up with the weirdly charming, and unfairly attractive residents, and maybe, kinda, sorta, starts to like them, just a little bit.
Relationships: Hunter/Finnegan Kazimir/Ezra Lyon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just an FYI: I added to the world building as needed/wanted for this story, and there's definitely places where it deviates from the plot of the game.

There’s an unspoken agreement between Hunters and civilians. We Hunters, fashion ourselves into weapons that stand between them and the monster filled darkness, ready to lay down our lives at a moments notice. In return, the civilians treat us with the utmost respect. 

That’s the idea anyway. 

But, for the most part, even if it exists, it’s still a cautious respect, always shadowed with a bit of dread. 

Hunters, are just a little too much for the mundane world to handle. We move through it, always quicker, stronger, and smarter than expected, causing a slight feeling of imbalance- vertigo, in those around us, even if they don’t realize it. We realize it. It’s one of the first things we notice after our initiation, the thing that makes us truly understand; there is no going back.

Civilians are relieved when we arrive, but just as relieved, if not more so, when we go. 

Especially me. 

Apparently I’ve earned a bit of a reputation both within the Agency, and without. My comrades affectionately call me, the Problemsolver- if they can bear to look me in the eye. Civilians have… other names for me. 

Walking down the quickly emptying streets of Lunaris, I don’t know what to expect of my latest job. I’ve been trekking the wilderness with intermittent pauses in remote villages for years now; my former Enforcer a faceless bureaucrat I reported to via enchanted parchment. The idea of having a boss overseeing my every move is extremely unappealing, even if the trade off is living in actual civilization. I’ve never been entirely convinced I was fit for civilization anyway, and my current life certainly hasn’t made that any less true. 

Lunaris isn’t that big, but the directions to the inn in my command were poor, and soon enough I’m turned around. As people settle inside, drawing their curtains closed, I feel like the buildings are looming over me, their dark, empty, eyes taunting me with reflections of my own twisted visage- the only monster that still causes me to tremble. I keep my gaze straight ahead as I limp on. 

Eventually I come across a mage lantern, and knowing that mages are often connected to the Agency in some way or another, I enter, hoping to find someone willing to speak with me. 

The sound of a tinkling bell heralds my arrival to whomever owns the establishment, and the smell of ozone alerts me to the nearby presence of the mage.   
  
I glance around looking for other exits, noting the curtained doorway in the back before taking in the rest of the store. The shelves are filled with an eclectic variety of things, many of them alchemical in nature, including potions themselves. When I hear footsteps, I straighten up, fumbling around as I try to decide what to do with my hands. 

Why had I never worried about this before? What are you supposed to do with your hands when standing awkwardly in the middle of someone’s shop and you _don’t_ want them to assume you’re there for violent ends? I cross my arms over my chest and hide them under my elbows just as the curtain in the back swings aside and an astoundingly beautiful man enters.

“Oh! Hello there. I was just closing up but… can I help you?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. 

It comes to mind that I haven’t spoken to anyone in… weeks? Months? I can feel heat building on my face and hurriedly lift my hand to my mouth, coughing as I try to clear my throat.

“Pardon me. I’m sorry to intrude, but I only need directions. I’m looking for the White Wolf Inn?” I finally manage to untie my tongue and speak. 

Thankfully the words have strung themselves together in the proper order, because I sure as hell didn’t have the presence of mind to do that. I glance away to try to regain my composure, and finally perceive his distinctively magical aura, that really should have been the first thing I noticed. Particularly, since it’s so strong I feel like I should be able to smell or taste it, like its a physical thing that’s filling the room. This witch is not only gorgeous, but powerful. 

Oh boy. 

When I dare to look at him again, his expression is inexplicably delighted. 

“Oh… oh, are you the new Hunter? It’s lovely to meet you. The town has been alight with gossip about you this week.”

Well. I’m not sure how to respond to that. People aren’t usually pleased to meet me, particularly after hearing the kind of gossip that follows me around. 

“None of the gossip is true,” I blurt out, hoping to lessen any misgivings he might have about me. 

I don’t usually worry about what people think of me, I really can’t afford to, but for some reason I really don’t want this lovely man to be afraid of me… as I tower over him, ugly as sin, two swords at my hip, and other various killing instruments strapped to my body.   
  
His mouth drops open for a second, but then he smiles kindly, shaking his head and causing his curls to bounce around in an adorable fashion.  
  
“I didn’t think so, Hunter Lachesis. And now that I’ve met you I’m entirely certain it was just empty chatter.” 

Still smiling, he steps forward and holds out his hand.

“I’m Ezra Lyon by the way. Lunaris’ local alchemist and witch. I specialize in healing, so if you have need of my services, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

I shake his hand, feeling as though I must have fallen and hit my head somewhere along the way and am currently having some sort of concussed delusion. The witch hasn’t even glanced at the leather mask that covers almost half my face. Most people can’t look away from it, or if they do, it’s just to stare at the burns it _doesn’t_ cover and very obviously wonder how far down they go. And that’s just one part of this encounter that makes it seem surreal.  
  
I resist the urge to touch my face and smile instead, feeling the stiff edges of the mask press into my cheek, where it refuses to bend to accommodate the the expression.

“Thank you, Mr. Lyon, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Oh please don’t!” he laughs, “I will never hear the end of it if you call me that. Just Ezra is fine.”

I nod, although I’m not sure if the familiarity sits well with me. Too strange, when already everything is strange. Any further conversation is interrupted by the loud, embarrassing, sound of my stomach growling. I can definitely feel the flush on my face this time, and I instinctively cover my stomach with my hand, my mouth open to apologize. The witch speaks first however.

“How rude of me! I should have offered you something to eat. Go ahead and take a seat in the back room and I’ll fix you something up.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. I should-”

“Nonsense,” Ezra insists, “It isn’t a bother to feed the Hunter who’s come to help us all. And you can stay here tonight. With how dangerous it’s been lately, I couldn’t bear to throw you out on the streets in the middle of the night.” 

He pulls open the back curtain before I can protest, revealing a homey looking back room. When he turns back, his smile is so warm and welcoming, that my protestations can’t withstand it. 

_Pretty people_ \- my greatest weakness. I don’t stand a chance against this guy. You combine pretty and kind and I’m an absolute goner. 

I smile, murmuring my thanks as I walk toward him, my wooden leg thumping loudly against the floorboards, an insistent reminder that I’m already half in the grave. My smile withers and dies, my expression smoothing back into polite interest. 

His living area is small, but cozy, filled with color and interesting knick knacks, a kitchenette and crooked dining table dominating the space. I cast out my senses, examining the room as I enter, noting the heavy shutters on the windows, and a hollow space, likely cold storage or a storm cellar, under the floorboards. 

Ezra had retrieved a jar filled with biscuits while I was looking around and I take two, murmuring my thanks.

“That will hold you over while I get some linens for the couch.” 

He quickly sets the kettle to boil and then goes upstairs. 

I nibble on the biscuits as I finally look around like a _normal_ person, my eye catching on a pile of parchment, with a sketch I can’t identify on top. I move closer to see, and notice it’s a sketch of Ezra, perhaps even the first captured vision for the painting of him on the wall.   
  
I’m about to move on when the hair on the back of my neck prickles. To hesitate is death, so I don’t, trusting my instincts as I draw my short sword instead of my long sword, mindful of the tiny space filled with objects precious to my host. 

The glowing, golden eyes peering out from an opening in the floorboards widen and then narrow into fierce slits. With an impossibly graceful, maneuver, the vampire vaults from the hatch, while I remain still, balanced on the balls of my feet. 

I’m ready to spring into an attack, held back due to the fact that he hasn’t moved toward me. His restraint, along with the extra heavy shutters on Ezra’s windows, and the ease of which the vampire had entered the witch’s abode, have me considering that this is a friend of Ezra’s. Albeit, a really, fucking stupid, one to go attacking a Hunter in the middle of town. 

“Who are you?” I demand, “Do you know Ezra?”

The vampire’s expression transforms from fierce to shocked in an instant, although he doesn’t straighten from his battle ready stance. I notice his aura, surprisingly panicked rather than furious or mindlessly bloodthirsty. I keep my blade at the ready regardless. All creatures are apt to behave irrationally when afraid, and I’m not about to die from misplaced sympathy. 

He considers me for a moment, gaze mostly on my weapon, before he apparently decides talking to me is preferable to fighting me. I’m just glad he’s not that stupid. 

“Finn Kazimir. Ezra is a friend of mine,” he finally says. His voice is whiskey smooth, soothing. Not that I would let him or his stupid, pretty, voice, soothe _me_.

“I’m Hunter Lachesis, Ezra invited me in. He’s upstairs.” I slowly move away from the staircase and gesture to it with my sword. “Let him know you’re here.” 

The vampire raises his eyebrows, his mouth open to no doubt argue or complain, and my gaze narrows as I glare at him. 

“No vampire funny business. Not until we’re both satisfied neither of us is lying. You use your powers, I use mine,” I gesture meaningfully with my readied blade, “capice?”

“I suppose I deserve this,” the vampire muses wryly as he slowly makes his way to the staircase, his eye fixed on my drawn weapon, “Paranoia for paranoia.”

“You have no idea, buddy.”

His footsteps are purposefully heavy as he starts up the stairs, drawing Ezra’s attention.

“Finnegan! What are you doing here?” the witch asks, voice raised in alarm. 

So, he knows the vampire’s name, no hint of caution, just worry in his voice, aura matches. I lower my sword. 

“I sensed that you were uneasy. Are you okay?”

I can hear them moving, preparing to descend the stairs, and sheathe my sword. I don’t want to upset Ezra any more than he already is. 

“I’m fine. I was very briefly started by the appearance of our new friend here.” 

Ezra’s smile is wide and genuine as enters the room and catches me in his sights again. Fish, meet hook. At this rate I’d be tempted to let him feed me to a vampire if he wanted. Although, probably not this one- he seems too dumb to live, honestly. I can’t imagine any hunter, besides myself, letting him go after the stunt he just pulled. 

The vampire’s golden gaze returns to me, his expression far more friendly, as Ezra absently drops the linens on the couch.

“I apologize for my less than hospitable welcome, hunter.”

We’re interrupted by the whistle of the kettle and Ezra busies himself with making tea. 

I shrug. I’m still irritated, but I’m also used to people reacting badly when a giant, deformed, woman, loaded with weapons, comes to call. 

“I’m welcomed with pitchforks or what have you, just as often as I am with hospitality. Usually it’s a bit of both. People tend to either lash out or run away when they’re afraid.” 

“What did you do?” Ezra asks the vampire, eyes narrowed.

The vampire puts both of his hands up, “Almost nothing!” he insists, “She’s really good. Had her sword drawn and my location pinpointed before I even managed to pop out of the hatch.” 

At Ezra’s horrified expression he quickly continues, “And that’s when our good Hunter, who is obviously far more levelheaded than I, kindly started a conversation that allowed us to come to this wonderful, peaceful, resolution.”

My lips twist into an unwilling smile at his lighthearted retelling of us almost bloodying each other and destroying Ezra’s cozy kitchen. 

Ezra’s skin is ashen, expression drawn, as he shoves gently at the vampire, “You big, dumb, idiot,” he accuses without any heat, his voice trembling. “You don’t have to jump on every stranger that passes this way.” 

Finnegan catches his hand, his prosthetic left arm glowing as it came in contact with the witch. I watch, curious why it did that. Some sort of sympathetic magic? My leg doesn’t glow in contact with magic, but then, it doesn’t do much of anything besides carry my ass around, and it doesn’t do that great of a job at that.

“Sorry,”the vampire responds.

Ezra squeezes his hand, shaking his head with a fond smile. They’re so gentle, leaning into each others space, like flowers reaching for the sun. 

I look away, unable to handle the tenderness.

Ezra turns to me, “I apologize for him as well, Hunter Lachesis. He is an ally, I swear it. Even if he doesn’t give the best first impression.” 

An ally? I hadn’t even considered that, glancing dubiously at the vampire. The vampire smiles an almost soft smile, still looking a bit guilty. I focus back on Ezra, unsure of what exactly he’s suggesting, if anything. 

The vampire steps forward, his hand outstretched.

“Shall we start over? I’m Finn Kazimir. My Clan and I are at your disposal, should you require any assistance, Hunter Lachesis.”

I hesitate, keenly aware of Ezra’s wary glance, like he’s concerned I’m going to hold a grudge, if not be straight up prejudiced. Which is fair enough. Hunters have a pretty good reputation for favoring humanity, that’s like our entire, very necessary, job. But it can be taken too far, and I’ve heard of arrangements such as these; the local creatures putting their powers to good use to help return peace to the places they live. I haven’t heard the tale of how it turned out for everyone however. Eventually, I take his hand, and thank him for his offer, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to keep my options open. 

The vampire’s grip is firm, his skin cold, as is expected. What’s unexpected is the mischievous smile that slides across his lips. 

“It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Hunter Lachesis.” 

His gaze brushes over me like a caress, pupils widening, dilating. 

The second my body sways outside of my control, countless hours of torturous drills come to bear, my body and mind acting together in pure instinct. 

My mind snaps closed like a clamshell along with my eye, my hand reaching to draw my sword from its sheath, applying all my strength to the movement of the draw and using it to viciously elbow the vampire in the solar plexus as I unsheathe my sword.

It’s a technique that would have incapacitated a human, but only staggers the vampire. Before I can press my advantage, Ezra jumps between us, yelling as he pushes the vampire back and stands in front him, his other hand held out to me. 

He’s speaking to me, but I can’t hear a word, my grip on the hilt of my weapon unyielding. I remain in place however, my gaze locked on my opponent. When he doesn’t move a muscle, I finally I manage to blink. Slowly, I return my sword to its sheath, although I still don’t look away. 

As soon as my sword is safely sheathed, I turn on my heel, and leave without another word. 

***

“Why did you do that?” Ezra turns to Finn, more furious and scared than the vampire has ever seen him, big, green, eyes, wide, his body trembling. Finn would take his arm being lopped off again over this and he grimaces, catching the witch in his arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just- We can’t trust hunters like we used to, not anymore. I had to make sure.”

“And if we just made an enemy of someone who would have been a friend? What then?”

“It’s my doing, I’ll take the blame. I had to make sure, I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, pulling away from Ezra. 

Ezra just sighs, running his hand over his curls. “There’s nothing to be done about it tonight.” He stares at the linens still sitting in a rumpled pile on the couch. Sighing again, he picks them up and turns toward the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow Finnegan, be careful.”

Swallowing down more useless apologies, Finn smiles at him, “I will. Sleep well.” 

He almost lets the term of endearment slip out, but finally manages to not to fuck up and just watches until Ezra steps out of sight. 


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up in the most comfortable bed I’ve had in ages and barely suppress the urge to burrow in the blankets to escape the sunlight and the new day it heralds. Opening my eyes, I recall the disaster of yesterday, groaning as I rub the sleep out of my eyes and sit up. Deciding I’m not doing anything, including thinking, until I’ve had a proper bath to wash the dirt accumulated traveling off of me, I go downstairs and ask for a bath to be drawn up.  
  
The Wolf has a bathing room as opposed to hauling water up the stairs, which also means it doesn’t take too long before it’s ready and I sit on a chair, so I can unfasten my prosthetic leg. It’s wood, and wouldn’t take kindly to a soak in water. It doesn’t take kindly to anything really, it’s a piece of shit. It starts mid-thigh, the knee joint always sticking whenever it pleases no matter how I tinker with it. That or the piece that attaches it to my thigh shifts, which is less of a hazard while fighting, but still hurts like a bitch. The bottom is carved into the shape of a boot, which is handy. Or you know- footy. Ha!  
  
Once it’s off, I carefully stand and lay it across the chair before climbing in the tub and sinking into the hot water with a pleased hiss. I don’t often get to enjoy a full bath, so I take my time, scrubbing in all the nooks and crannies, of which I have extra thanks to the wrinkled, puckered, burns that cover a portion of my face, down my neck, before curling over and down my left shoulder, tendrils marking my chest and back.  
  
Pretty, I am not, that’s for certain. But Hunters don’t need to be. I find things, and then I usually kill them. Then I write about how I did it and send it to my Enforcer via enchanted parchment. She sends me on to my next place. Although, I have a new Enforcer now. And they’re going to be right over my shoulder the entire time I’m here. I’m not super excited about that, in fact, I’m pretty pissed. But I’ve learned not to dwell on wishing things are different. 

I’ll handle it just like I handle everything else. With whatever is required. A smile? I can do that. Salute? Of course! Wink? Scowl? Dead eyed stare? I can do them all. I’m better at the mean, scary, stuff of course, I mean, mean and scary basically describes everything about me, but if I’m given the chance, I can do friendly too. 

After my bath, I’m considering what to do with my unusual day of freedom before being required to check in at headquarters, when a terrible thought occurs to me. That vampire last night was obviously capable of manipulating minds. What if he’d created that safe space in Ezra’s home by force? Ezra is a witch, unlikely to fall for such manipulation, at least, not without noticing, and he hadn’t shown any signs of coercion. But maybe it was no longer needed, with the witch believing the vampire’s desires were his own? A kind man like Ezra may have simply trusted the wrong person and wound up in a situation he couldn’t get out of. I’ve seen it happen.

I need to check, I decide as I pull on my boot, tying my laces in a practiced one hand maneuver. 

I worry the entire way back to the shop. I should have assessed the witch for signs of coercion before even bothering to interact with the vampire. And then I had left him alone with the creature. My stomach sours and turns at all the terrible possibilities of how the vampire could be using his kindness, and I hurry inside the shop.

Ezra is at the counter and looks up at the jingle of bell. His eyebrows raise at the sight of me, his mouth opening to speak.

I interrupt, quickly check his aura as I speak, “I owe you an apology,” I tell him, bowing my head slightly.

There’s nothing to suggest trauma, hidden or otherwise, his aura showing nothing but the surprise on his face. 

“You… do?” Ezra replies, hesitantly.

“Yes. I took the situation last night at face value, when I should have properly ensured your safety before leaving, and I’m very relieved you…” I pause and quickly look him up and down, “appear unharmed. Although, I understand if you want to file a complaint with my superior.”

The witch looks utterly shocked, and I wait patiently for him to regain his composure, paying extra close for any contrary emotions. When he puts his head in his hands and groans, I start to worry. He looks up a moment later, and he suddenly looks so much more tired that I actually jolt toward him, worried he might fall over. I abort the movement before I actually even get close to touching him, and his expression softens.

“Thank you for worrying about me Hunter Lachesis, although you needn’t. I understand if it’s difficult for you to understand, but Finn is a dear friend of mine, and has been for awhile now.” 

The witch stands to his feet and comes around the counter. He telegraphs his movements as he places his hand on my arm, and looks up into my eye. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong in your handling of the situation. You responded instinctively in the way you were trained to protect yourself; it would be unfair of Finnegan or I to demand anything different.” 

He gives my arm a gentle squeeze and lets go, stepping back, “All we can do now is attempt to be more thoughtful in our interactions as we move forward.”

I nod, grateful that such a wonderful person is safe. I’m even a little glad he has a powerful vampire to watch over him… provided everything is truly as above board as it seems. I mean, I want to believe it is, but Hunter training encourages a distinctly doubtful point of view when it comes to anything regarding the motives of creatures. 

“Would you still be willing to work with Finnegan?” Ezra asks. “After an apology, of course,” he adds quickly. I can tell he’s trying to sound as neutral as possible as he asks, and I glance at his eyes as I answer.

My gut tells me Ezra is trustworthy, so I’m willing to trust who he trusts, as long as my own judgment finds nothing to worry over. To a point. And the vampire might come in handy, particularly if he has a bit of guilt on his conscience. 

“I don’t know, is he better at apologies than he is at first impressions?” I finally ask, my lips turning in a wry smile.  
  
The witch laughs, obviously relieved, and I can’t help my smile growing into something wider and warmer as I watch him. He really is _very_ pretty.

“He is,” he assures me. 

Any further conversation is interrupted by a rather imperious looking customer, and I back away, letting Ezra deal with them. I can’t help but still hear the conversation as I browse, unsure if my own conversation with Ezra was concluded. It’s not exactly a quiet or friendly discussion, and I consider making a break for it when the customer turns and somehow manages to pin me down with just a stare, effectively looking down their nose at me despite my height advantage.  
  
Since they seem intent on inspecting me, I examine them in turn, registering the violet sash across their chest that matches my own. Between that and their magical aura it’s apparent that I’m dealing with an Enforcer, likely a high ranking one by their attitude. My training tries to kick in, insisting I straighten and salute, but I resist. I’m already not happy being corralled into the bullshit office politics that’s inevitable at headquarters, and then this person was rude to Ezra, which strengthens my conviction that they aren’t anyone I want to show respect to.

“So you’re my new subordinate. Interesting.”

Well, fuck. Glad I took a bath. 

It’s further confirmed by Ezra, calling them, ‘Gus.’ This is Major General August Willenheim. My boss. I decide it’s best for my continued welfare to salute, so I do, although they simply scoff and wave me off before I can even address them. 

“Tell me, Hunter Lachesis, are you ready to partake in one of the most baffling missions I’ve come across?”

I take in their pallor, the bruises under their eyes, how they’re obviously dead on their feet. A rush of unwanted compassion fills me, whisking away my anger and resentment. Internally, I grumble at losing a semi-convenient target for my frustration. 

“I am, General Willenheim. I look forward to working with you on the case.”

They quirk a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, lips pursed in contemplation.

“I don’t suffer fools, and I _don’t_ tolerate tardiness.” 

As someone who hasn’t lived by a clock in years, I immediately start worrying about my, likely lacking, ability to be on time. 

General Willenheim continues, “If you’re capable, we’ll get along just fine.”

Capable. Well, that is a term often applied to me. Perhaps this partnership won’t be a disaster. I nod, before responding.  
  
“In that case, I’m your woman, general.”

“Is that so?” they state, somehow looking elegantly amused. I glance at Ezra to find him fighting back a grin. I think back on my words and heat floods my face. “I- uh-” 

_People_. Particularly _pretty_ people, inspire me into stupidity to a truly irritating degree. I just forgot after years of nothing but pleasantries and conversations exclusively related to my job. This is what I get for speaking unnecessary words in the presence of attractive people.

“That isn’t-”

“Come now, hunter, it’s rude to take back a gift.”

I cannot believe they’re running with this terrible joke and I sigh, my shoulders sagging, “Of course, general. Although, I did mean that I am at your service and I’ll do my best to help solve the case.” 

So I can disappear and never speak to anyone ever again. 

They don’t answer, too busy scowling at Ezra as he hands them some sort of tincture he’d been working on while we spoke. Their own conversation resumes, Ezra worrying, the General deflecting, and I can’t help but watch. Finally Ezra gives up trying to convince them.

“There’s always a choice, just remember that.”

The General pauses, but then just rolls their eyes as they turn and reach for the door. Before stepping over the threshold they catch my gaze again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hunter Lachesis. _Don’t_ be late.”

Once the door slams shut behind them, I immediately glance at Ezra, who’s looking at me, a chagrined expression on his face. 

“I’m worried that maybe everyone in Lunaris is not up for good first impressions here lately,” he states sadly.

I shrug, “I’m a Hunter. Dealing with people who are exhausted and terrified, is part of the job.” I smile at him, “Honestly, I more comfortable in high pressure situations, than I am in normal interactions.” 

As I had helpfully demonstrated a couple minutes ago. I’m not sure why I’m telling him this, particularly since it seems to make him sad, his brows furrowing, over a brief, worried frown.

“Well, I hope you visit again soon, Hunter Lachesis. Perhaps you just need some practice with normal interactions.”

He smiles again, expression so genuinely friendly, that it makes my heart speed up as it starts dreaming of impossible things. I metaphorically stomp on it to make it stop. Dreaming only leads to pain, the kind that’s far more difficult to handle than having half your face burned off or losing a limb.

“Please don’t hesitate to stop by if you need something, or even if you don’t, as I said. Any time.” He continues, placing a hand on my elbow briefly and giving it a friendly squeeze. “Be careful, hunter.”

“Thank you, Ezra,” I respond, fighting back the sudden urge to blush, unused to even a friendly sort of affection. I wave as I turn away, intent on not thinking about my feelings and finding some breakfast back at the inn.


	3. Chapter 3

I order at the counter and turn to find a table, only to instead find my way blocked by a striking, scowling, young woman. She’s _much_ shorter than I am, and obviously irritated by it. I resist the urge to smile, thinking that I’d trade her any day. Being ugly and big _and_ a woman is more than one person should have to bear. 

“So… this is the famous Problemsolver, who’s come to save the day,” she states, her gaze raking me up and down. “You don’t look like anything special to me,” she scoffs.   
  
I’ve missed two meals and had a rather fraught night, and it takes every single shred of my self control, not to respond viciously to her poking directly into old wounds. 

“Come to gloat, have you?” she continues, eyes narrowed, “Rub it in my face?”

“Actually, I came to eat breakfast,” I reply lightly. 

My urge to return hurt for hurt had dissipated as soon as I realized she must be the hunter I’m replacing on the case, and I just watch, intending to learn as much as I can from her. Doesn’t hurt that she’s fucking gorgeous and expressive, every single thought plastering itself on her face as it slides by. But like, prettily. 

“Ah-” she has the grace to look embarrassed. She heaves a huge sigh and throws herself down on the bar stool next to me.

“I really am shit,” she mutters.

“That seems unlikely, uh- what’s your name?”

She looks offended I don’t know, and bites out, “Piper Meriman. The gen-, former general, that was leading this case until you came along,” she crosses her arms over her chest.

Fuck me. Again. This mission is already a nightmare and I haven’t even dealt with a dead body or been threatened by the monologuing murderer yet. Of course I was replacing the legendary Piper Meriman, and of course she hated my guts for it. I resist the urge to tell her if I’d had a choice I would have said ‘Fuck no,’ and hoofed it back into the deep woods where demons fear to tread, and yadda, yadda, yadda. The fact that I don’t even want the job is sure as hell not going to help anything. Instead, I blandly state that she should know I don’t choose my postings. 

“Yes, well, I do know that I suppose,” she mumbles, picking at a nonexistent piece of lint off her trousers. 

I can understand her reaction though. We have the toughest and most important job on the planet, getting demoted means doing less to keep humanity safe. It’s tough on people, even if they don’t care about the title. But it’s also not done on a whim. Taking a good soldier out of the fight is, or should be, last resort sort of measures. I hope it wasn’t some office politics bullshit that got her cast down, but at the same time, I can’t think of anything else that would. If she did anything that bad, she’d be in jail or in the ground, not demoted. Maybe she was made an example of. 

I watch, but don’t get any sense of anything hidden as she gestures for a drink from the bartender, sitting back once she has it in hand, swirling it around in the glass absently as she stares at me again, expression softening into something just shy of melancholy. 

“You’ll see me around, Hunter Lachesis. I’m not complete shit at my job, I’m just doing useless shit like clearing out fae nests. Fucking Enforcers,” she snarls, taking a giant gulp of her drink. “Just a bunch of pencil-pushing wankers.” 

I snort out a laugh, thinking maybe she and I will be able to get along. My breakfast is plunked down on the bar top by a rather surly barmaid, interrupting the conversation. I thank her, picking up my plate and staring intently at the perfectly cooked bacon, sitting there looking impeccably crispy and full of rapturous delight. 

When I finally remember Meriman was still talking and look up, she’s just watching me, lips quirked in amusement. She rolls her eyes, and sighs, slipping off her barstool and slapping me companionably on the back as she walks past. 

“I’ll leave you to stare indecently at your breakfast, hunter,” she teases. “Just, don’t take any shit from Willenheim,okay?” she points at me, as though giving me a strict order. “Let me know if they give you any trouble. I’m not afraid to stick my boot up their backside… again,” she grins rakishly. 

I’m pretty sure only a body dead in the grave wouldn’t respond to that with a grin of their own, which is what I do, my stupid, treacherous, heart, quickening for absolutely no good reason.   
  
“Anyway, I’ll see you around.” 

With that she turns around and disappears into the crowd.  
  
I unfortunately notice that the crowd gathered in the center of the tavern is bloody angry about something and I sigh. I’m not letting the first hot meal I’ve had in over a week go cold however, so I take it with me, barely holding back a moan as I bite into the bacon. I shoulder my way through the crowd, still chewing to find a sneering lycan at the center of the chaos. 

The jeering and name-calling of the crowd seems excessive, particularly since some of us are trying to enjoy their breakfast, but the lycan seems utterly unconcerned, drinking his ale as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. His nose quivers as I move closer and I plunk my plate down on his table, pointing at the chair next to him. 

“This spot free?” 

His eyes narrow, but he kicks the chair away from the table and I sit down. The tavern goes deathly silent, and the crowd quickly disperses. 

“Works every time,” I tell the wolf, with a toothy smile, sliding my plate over to him and hailing the waitress for another.  
  
I’m in my element in situations like these where a bit of bravado and sharp intelligence are all the weapons you need, and yet it yields impressive results. Like a silent tavern, where everyone is minding their own damn business. Well, kinda- it’s pretty obvious everyone is listening in. 

The lycan simply stares at me, not even looking at the food.  
  
“I saw your nose, wolf. At least eat the bacon, it’s on the Agency’s tab.” 

He smirks at that, finally taking up the fork, although he doesn’t make a move to take a bite. 

“So all this is usual fare for you, hunter?” 

I consider the Enforcers brand I saw on his chest. It hadn’t inspired any sort of gut feeling, despite the fact that it should; that’s its primary purpose after all, to warn civilians who don’t have a tricky hunter gut to help them out. The brand is supposed to be reserved for creatures that commit a crime deserving of death, but where the situation is too complex for simple, drastic, measures. That or they made themselves too useful to kill. But I’m not naive enough to believe its purpose is never abused. 

Shaking my head, I respond.

“Not entirely. Lunaris has gone above and beyond my expectations.” 

For fucking me over. And I haven’t even stepped foot in headquarters yet, and that was sure to be a shitshow. I hate office politics. And offices. So much saluting and making sure you act like you have a stick up your ass. 

The lycan’s gaze narrows, “That’s not saying much.”

I shrug, murmuring my thanks to the waitress as she plunks another plate of food in front of me, pausing to glare at me this time. 

“I don’t have much to say yet. I’ve met a total of 4 people so far, and I’m not used to meeting that many people without needing to kill at least one of them.” 

The silence of the tavern deepens, and I bite into a piece of bacon, grinning at the shock on the lycan’s face. After another beat of silence I burst out laughing. 

“I’m just messing with you, man.”

So, yeah. Sometimes I encourage the rumors. Just a little. I mean, there’s no worse time to scare someone then when they’re already terrified. A few rumors about brutish violence, paves the path of diplomacy for the smart brute. People hear my title, or nickname, and know what to expect ahead of time, which means they try to stab me or run away from me less, which makes my job easier. Because I’m good at many things, but not even I can make a 6’2” wall of muscle, with half a face, an ill-fitting wooden leg, and burns all over, look friendly. Believe me, I’ve tried. Kinda.   
  
Anyway, I didn’t start the tales, someone else set the ball rolling, I just use it to knock over a few pins here and there. Use what your mama gave you, right? Well, my mother, a vampire, and a demon. And whatever drunk bastard first told the tales; it wasn’t the vampire or demon, that’s for sure. Probably not my mother either.

“So, you have a name?” I ask the wolf.

“Alkar,” he grumbles, in between bites of food, apparently not sure what to make of me. 

I empathize. People drama is always the most stressful for me, but after years of regular fights to the death, my brain tends to respond to stress with a flood of feel good chemicals, that make me a bit… intense. Flighty. And it’s really not good when a creature drilled into never hesitating in the application of violence gets reckless. Food helps. A lot.

I inhale my breakfast with enough gusto to impress the lycan, and we sit in fairly comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“Hunter Lachesis,” Alkar, finally states, “I’ve heard lots of stories about you.”

I beat back the surge of discomfort that statement brings, now that my brain has been lulled back into contentment with food. The tavern is no place for humility, or too many scruples. I shrug carelessly.

“Seems like you have a few stories yourself, Alkar.” 

He smirks, glancing around the still too quiet tavern, “Yeah, I guess you could say I have a reputation around here. But these are just the town idiots. You’ve earned a title even among the Hunters.”

I shrug, my arms spread out in a ‘what can you do,’ gesture, “I’m just good at my job. People have ideas about people who make a living killing things. Some of them are even right. But I can’t really do anything about the fact that my job is done by the edge of a sword; it’s a job that has to be done.”

The lycan stands to his feet and stretches, preparing to take his leave. He steps closer, looming over me, a feat he couldn’t manage if I weren’t sitting down. He smells strangely nice for someone who looks like they’d sooner gnaw on a scrub brush than use it.  
  
“True enough. This town is full up on problems, _Problemsolver_ , and some of the problems wear purple sashes just like yours. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust a single, damn, person in this shithole.”

I resist the urge to glance at the Enforcer brand on his chest. 

“Even you?” I ask, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Especially me,” he states matter of factly, lips curved in a sharp smile. 

I have to hold back my own grin. I knew he was going to say that. I could tell he wanted me to ask so he could answer with that. _Adorable_. 

“Thanks for the breakfast,” he says as his farewell, “Goodbye, Hunter Lachesis.” 

“See ya.”

The tavern comes back to life after he leaves, although many of the citizens throw me wary glances. Typical. 

I ignore them, downing what’s left of my water and standing to my feet. The brand on the half-wolf’s chest is still prickling at me with the wrongness surrounding it. The silence. But it’s time to truly explore my home for the next few weeks. 

Lunaris takes almost an hour to walk through end to end, and I take note of the graveyard at the edge, my gut telling me there’s something there. 

I immediately re-enter to track down the hidden alleys and dead ends that could mean the difference between life and death for someone like me. I don’t get very far when I come across an aura that inspires a string of curses under my breath as I head toward it, resting my hand casually on the hilt of my short sword, just in case a civilian sees me. 

A purposefully striding Hunter with their hand gripping their weapon can very easily cause a panic.  
  
When I head down the alley the demon is occupying, I’m surprised to find him sitting casually next to a few empty crates. Indeed, I expected a dark, dead end, lit only by the fire behind badly glamored eyes. Like most demons, he’s pretty, everything about him fine and well-groomed. 

Unlike most demons, he smiles upon seeing me. 

Standing to his feet, he brushes the dirt off his clothes and greets me politely.

“Hello, Hunter Lachesis. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

I’m completely at a loss and I vaguely wonder if the gods are… I don’t know, fucking bored or something. His illusion is impeccable, although he still looks distinctly un-human, what with the fangs, long sharp nails, and tail. I wonder why he didn’t go for the full human package. Albeit, I have the full human package… sorta, and know there’s a lot it can’t hide. 

Since he let me come to him rather than springing on me, I decide I can afford to show him consideration in return.

“Have you? I’ve never met a demon who was looking forward to speaking with me, rather than… well, I’m sure you know.” 

He _actually_ flipping blushes, shyly casting his gaze down and away. 

I just stare.

“I do know. I won’t hurt you, I swear. I mean you no harm, Hunter.” His gaze flicks to where my hand still rests on one of my many weapons.

“You can mean no harm all you like. But the more powerful you are, the more likely it is that simply moving through the world will cause chaos, if not destruction.” 

I firmly believe that this world is not meant for demons. I get why they come here, I mean, hell is hell. But a single demon can plumb the depths of passion in the human heart without even lifting a finger, inspiring unthinkable violence and depravity. I would know, I’ve experienced it, and I’ve also walked through more than one ghost town that had once played host to a demon, till there was nothing left for it to play with.  
  
Still, I’m polite. An angry demon is nothing to sneeze at, and there’s no point in making my job harder. If there’s any job to be done. I may not like demons, but I don’t condone preemptive killing. At least, not without orders.  
  
The demon winces, wringing his hands nervously. I almost feel bad, but no amount of cute can sway me. I’ve fought a demon possessed bunny, and even this guy’s got nothing on its adorably wiggly nose and fluffy, bloodstained cheeks. 

“Yes, I have been very careful, Hunter, I swear it.”

He can swear on Satan’s forked tongue for all I care, but I just smile politely. 

“How can I help you… ?”

“Omen,” he introduces himself.

Fantastic. A demon called Omen. I wonder if the gods still take sacrifices and what they’d want if they did. I don’t really have much to my name. Would they take an ale? 

“What can I do for you, Omen? Or did you just want to inform me you’re staying in Lunaris?”

The demon shakes his head again, pursing his lips. “I wanted you to know, and I also wanted to wish you well.” He looks me in the eye. “This is my home. I want it to be safe. I want my friends to be safe.”

Huh. Okay. If he truly has managed to make friends, rather than worshipers, maybe he’s not so bad. It’s a step in the right direction as far as I’m concerned anyway. Regardless, this isn’t my town, if the townspeople truly wanted him gone, he’d be forced to leave or to act. And so would the hunters. 

I finally soften my stance, casually dropping my hand from where I had it resting on the hilt of my sword and smile at him.

“I can understand that sentiment, Omen. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

He grins, wide and unabashed, and it is disarmingly charming. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, big brown eyes sparkling and earnest. 

It’s my turn to flush apparently, although I try to will it back. Fucking pretty people are the worst.

“I- well, it’s my job.”

“I’ve heard you’re the best at your job. I know you can solve this.”

Considering the stories I’ve heard, I’m not sure where he, or the other people I’ve met, have gotten the impression that I’m worthy of things like trust and friendliness. I’m not about to look gift demon in the mouth (although I would certainly return it if given the chance), and I just smile.

“No pressure,” I joke.

His eyebrows raise in surprise, “No, it’s a lot of pressure.” He shakes his head, looking grim. “I would be terrified if it were me.”

I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

“Good thing I’m used to it then.”

He smiles again, looking pleased, “Good!” he waves as he turns to go, “Welcome to Lunaris, Hunter Lachesis.”


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning I’m waiting in the hallway outside of Major General Willenheim’s office, my eye on the clock. 

I’ve been ready since since sunrise, prowling my room restlessly for an hour or so before heading to headquarters and prowling around there. It wouldn’t due to get lost while trying to find their office. I can track just about anything in the woods, but put me in a giant box without the sun or stars to help me out and I’ve got all the sense of direction as a… thing stuck in a box. Like a cat, or something. 

I’m about to knock when I hear loud, terse, voices inside and hesitate. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I really would rather not step in shit first thing in the morning. Glancing at the clock I sigh, realizing I don’t have much choice. There’s gonna be shit no matter where I step. 

I knock and wait for permission to enter. Instead the voices cut off, the sound of footsteps approaching the door before its wrenched open, and I’m greeted with the beautiful, irritated, countenance of my Enforcer. 

“Yes? Oh, it’s you.”

The smile I had prepared goes fixed as I clench my teeth so hard they creak. They don’t seem to notice, instead glancing at the clock.

“Well, you’re on time at least. Congratulations.”

At least? I haven’t even started yet! … Fucking Enforcers. They continue with the snide attitude as we enter the office and I’m met with the also scowling face of Major Meriman. I glance at the window. It’s only the third story. A hunter could totally make it.

“Hunter Lachesis,” Meriman greets me, unenthusiastically.

“Good morning, Hunter Meriman. It’s nice to see you again.” ‘And _that’s_ how to politely greet your co-worker, regardless of your fucking _feelings_ ,’ I say, only to myself, in a vicious tone of thought.

“Yes, you too,” she responds after glancing at the general. 

I just want this to be over so I can start my investigation. Although I do appreciate the polite response, particularly when she smiles. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but that’s fine. As long as we can all be fucking civil. 

The general needles her about being in the tavern, not that it’s any of their business, and I glance at the window again. 

I’d have to make sure to roll to break the momentum without breaking my remaining leg. Totally doable. I’m not really paying much attention to their squabbling, but I do notice when the tension shifts in response to the general emphasizing Meriman’s demotion with the title _Major_. It drains the fight out of Meriman like they sucker punched her and I wince in sympathy. Stars, these people need a time out.  
  
There’s an incredibly fraught and awkward silence that I very carefully break, my voice as neutral as I can make it.

“Is it time for our meeting, General Willenheim?”

“Yes,” they snap. “Is there anything else before you _leave_ , Meriman?”

She growls, eyes narrowed in a ferocious glare, “Is it-”

“I wasn’t aski- ugh!” 

Surprisingly, the general also almost growls, a frustrated noise bursting out of them as they exhale in a rush, pinching the bridge of their nose as work to regain their composure. Their eyes open, glaring just as balefully as Meriman. 

I just stare for a moment, then wrench my gaze away before anyone notices . I’ve never seen open animosity between colleagues this bad before, and it’s starting to dawn on me that this case is truly as terrible as I was warned. Assuming that’s what seems to have sundered the relationship between Hunter Meriman and Enforcer Willenheim, one of the most successful elimination teams in all of Eskria . 

I’m starting to understand the fear Ezra and Finn showed. 

I don’t take the fear of the civilians to heart. I mean, I care, and don’t want them to be afraid for their lives, of course, but they scare way easier than say, Hunters and Enforcers. We’ve seen some shit. Or, in the case of the Enforcers, _read_ some shit. But these are ranked officers, utter legends, behaving just as… well, no, _worse_ , than the terrified civilians. 

A chill sweeps down my spine, and I swallow thickly, resolving to pay more attention and try to think more kindly of my colleagues.

“You’re dismissed, Meriman,” the general finally snaps, pointedly turning their back on her and walking to their desk where they proceed to shuffle through their paperwork. 

“Fine,” she snaps in return, “I’ll go look for your possibly-a-small-chimera but probably-a-big-fucking-cat. But one of these days you’re going to have to stop punishing me.” 

She turns and addresses me before leaving, her expression transforming into something _far_ more friendly. 

“See you around, hunter. Remember what I said.” She glances at the general who’s still studying their paperwork as though it holds the secret to the universe. “Foot. Arse.”

She actually mimes the action since the general’s back is turned and I can’t help but grin. Meriman winks, grinning in return, a small feeling of camaraderie budding between us. Hunters have to have each others backs. Who knows, next week Willenheim could be treating me like they treat Meriman.

“Bye, General Twat,” she says in a falsely sweet voice just before slamming the door so hard it shakes in its frame. 

The general walks around their desk and practically falls into their chair with a bone-deep, exhausted, sigh. They sit, staring blankly for a few moments before blinking rapidly and sending me a wry look, as they gesture vaguely at the papers scattered across their desk.

“As much as I hate to admit it, we’ve got nothing. As of right now, I suspect everyone in this town, as should you.”   
  
I’m pretty sure at least a few people could be effectively ruled out, but I get the feeling behind such a statement. The case has been dragged out. There aren’t any leads. It feels hopeless. I think back on my first meeting of General Willenheim, their exhaustion, how worried Ezra was, the vial of potion. There seems to be something else going on with them, and I wonder just how far they’ve gone, trying to close this case. 

They sigh again, shaking their head as they huff out a quiet laugh, and relax farther back into their chair.

“I don’t know why Harry chose you above anyone else for this job, but I trust him implicitly. So whatever his plans for you, we had better make it work.”

… _plans_? What other plan was there besides solving the murder mystery and striding off into the sunset? I’m distracted from my thoughts by the general straightening in their chair and fixing me with a stern look.

“Now, are you ready to begin, Hunter Lachesis?”

“Of course, general,” I reply, “What’s the first step?” 

I feel like I’m about to burst out of my skin out of sheer anticipation and restlessness. I’m ready to get out of here. Examine evidence, question witnesses, scout the scene. That’s the stuff I excel at, not this office politics bullshit. Or office anything bullshit. Have I mentioned I hate offices?

“You meet Harry. Harry tells us what to do, and we do it.”

I can’t help the way I visibly deflate at their response, after being convinced I was just about free. 

“That’s it?”

The General quirks an eyebrow at me as though _I’m_ the one being unreasonable. 

“Yes. That’s it. I don’t know how you’re used to doing things, Hunter Lachesis, but throw that out the window. Everything changes here, now.”

I’m certainly tempted to throw _something_ out the window. 

My internal gnashing of teeth is interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. August stands to their feet with alacrity and I follow their lead, smoothing down the front of my uniform and turning to face the door. There’s the distinct clang of armor and heavy boots, and then the door swings open, and the effective ruler of Eskria enters the room.  
  
He glances between the general and I, expression stern and emotionless. I don’t even dare to think thoughts about him. 

He unbuckles his steel gauntlet, setting it on the general’s desk, then shrugs off his regal coat, tossing it onto chair. I wonder why he feels the need to toss his things around someone else’s office. Kinda rude, that. He moves to stand toe to toe with the General, his blank expression cracking into a grin. 

I’m beyond shocked when he pulls the general’s stiff, unyielding, body into a hug, chuckling as he slaps them companionably on the back. 

“Old friend. How the heck are you? It’s been awhile, has it not?” He pulls away, keeping his hands on General Willenheim’s shoulders and frowning, “You look exhausted. Have you not been sleeping?”

General Willenheim smiles wryly, “I’ve been making attempts to sleep. Does that count?” they respond. 

Addington gives them a reproving look, although it’s a soft one, like a father would give a misbehaving child. It makes me feel even more baffled and uncomfortable than I already am. Addington urges the general to look after themselves, then turns to me.

“Hunter Lachesis, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. I can finally put a face to all those impressive reports I’ve read.” 

Ha! I bet he was expecting _more_ of a face. I shake his offered hand, still unsure how I feel about him. His sunny disposition and casual attitude is in such stark contrast to everyone else’s desperation that it seems almost obscene, if not pretty typical of the guy at the top. 

Maybe he’s trying to cheer everyone up, I try to think charitably. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Lieutenant General Addington, Sir.” 

He grips my forearm with his other hand, in a friendly gesture. 

“Harry is fine, none of this formal nonsense. If we’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future, we might as well get familiar, don’t you agree?”

I most certainly do not. 

I may hate stuffy professionalism, but it has it’s purposes. My favorite of those purposes being emotional distance, which is kinda important when you handle some of the most important and dangerous business in the land. But I just smile and, of course, agree. 

“Now, let’s get to business, shall we?” 

Yes! Finally. I try not to look too enthused, considering the multiple _murders_ , but it’s hard to think about anything other than getting out of here. General Willenheim hands him what must be the latest case file, and he reads it while I stare intently at the blank back of it, trying not to hate them both with all the passion of a dying star that seems to have ignited in my veins. 

Eventually he hands the file back to the general, and turns from the both of us to face the fireplace.  
  
I discretely take a deep breath and quietly release it, forcing myself to fucking relax. I’m glad I did when Addington finally addresses me.

“You know Sepporah,” I blink rapidly in surprise. I hadn’t given him my first name. My uneasiness grows, but I don’t really have time to think over it.  
  
“I’ve worked for the Enforcers for over thirty years, and I’ve never felt quite so useless.” 

His voice was wavering and Addington pauses to compose himself.

“We’ve lost some of our best. Our brightest, _kindest_. I… I truly am at a loss and I’m finding it difficult to keep my emotions out of the equation when it’s my own people being needlessly slaughtered.”  
  
His grief is so obvious now I feel terrible for doubting its existence. For judging his blithe demeanor that had apparently just been a cloak over his pain. I should know better than to judge how someone chooses to grieve. General Willenheim glances at me, seemingly wanting my reaction, as well as giving Addington a moment of privacy.  
  
“Nothing can bring them back,” General Addington continues, “but we can bring those responsible to justice.” 

I take a moment to gather my thoughts before responding. 

“The victims, they were hunters, weren’t they?” 

It all fits. His use of ‘we,’ just how spread thin and terrified everyone is. It’s because hunters are rarely victims. Not like this, anyway. We can be the losers of a fight, which generally means we die, but we aren’t considered victims in such circumstances. Just fallen heroes. This is something different, that much is clear.

“Yes,” Addington confirms, “they were hunters. Just like you.” 

The silence after his statement is ringing with tension, but he gently breaks it with a quiet, huffing, laugh. 

“I know we’re putting a great deal of responsibility on your shoulders, Sepporah, but I have never ending faith that you are the one who can help end this madness.” He gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze and pulls away. “Now, do you have any questions?”

Yeah. Why me? What inspired this never ending faith? A bunch of tavern rumors? My kill count?… I’m not entirely sure I want to know though. Isn’t it enough that someone like him, thinks highly of someone like me?

I ask other questions instead. About the victims, patterns, evidence collected, things like that. I still receive very little information, though this is explained as them wanting unbiased eyes. 

I frown, shifting uncomfortably. I speak hesitantly, as though I’m afraid of causing offense, when in fact I’m determined to test the waters, wondering how they’ll react to me pushing. 

“I understand your perspective, but after I do an initial assessment, I would very much like to see the files. I’ll eventually need context so I can plan my next steps forward.”

Addington agrees, easily and amicably, Willenheim frowns, but that isn’t really saying much. I can’t sense anything of their auras. 

Eventually I am given some direction, although questioning already questioned townspeople with an alibi seems particularly pointless. I start to feel tired, as though I’ve been run over by a stampede. Dealing with other people’s motives and emotions is exhausting. 

‘Suspect everyone. Question everything,’ are the last words General Addington gives me before I leave to start my investigation. 

I meander, slowly making my way to the Aibek, and taking the time to smoke a blunt while I go over everything that’s happened. 

It’s a _medicinal_ blunt. Losing a limb, particularly a leg, tends to leave a lot of phantom pains, and some days pot is the only reason I can walk at all. I’m in my twilight years as a hunter, I know this. Most of us stay young forever. Pot helps with that too. 

I leave the Aibek several minutes later, vaguely irritated, and definitely wary about the sweetly wrapped _demon_ present, but already making plans to get the boy twin to talk to me. It’d be better to not obviously separate him from his potentate of a sister since that would just scare him into clamming up. Their guard might be willing to be helpful with that though. 

My thoughts are interrupted by the appearance of the lycan. He crosses his arms over his chest as he comes to a stop, with a glare directed at me.

Internally, I sigh. Here we go again. 

“You reek of _them_ , the twins. What the hell have you been doing in that damn church? Are you feeding into their bullshit already? I thought you’d be different, just like everyone said you would be. How stupid of me to want to believe them.”

I blink. I tend to let people talk, get whatever is on their mind off it so I can fix it, awkwardly sympathize, or more expertly rip them a new asshole. But I’m at a loss on how to handle disappointing someone. I don’t entirely mean that in the, ‘I don’t fail’ way, although that is also true. It’s also partially that I don’t tend to give a fuck as long as everyone is alive enough to _be_ disappointed. But anyway, I’m not entirely sure what to do with the upset lycan.

“I was questioning them.” I reply simply, hoping he’ll remember what my job is and calm his tits down.   
  
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. His hands are shaking, although when he notices me noticing he balls them into fists, with a truly epic scowl. 

“Why should I believe you? I don’t even know you.”

Oh boy. What an idiot. Still adorable. I sigh, rubbing my temples.

“Maybe because it’s the job I was fucking brought here to do? You do remember I’m working a case, yes? You don’t think questioning Creep 1 and 2, who live next to the last crime scene, might be a logical course of action?”

I should probably be nicer to him, I apparently scared him, but I’m not here to babysit people’s feelings, and while I do the best I can when faced with emotions, it wears me thin quicker than… literally anything else. I mean, I care, but it’s really tough on me to care. And I’m a busy gal, I kinda need to have the energy to deal with the ravenous vampires and murderous demons you can’t walk three steps without tripping over where I’m from. 

The- Alkar, has the grace to look embarrassed, although he’s also pouting, which I really shouldn’t find cute, but I do. 

“You could have been multitasking,” he grumbles.

“I wasn’t multitasking by agreeing with their hatred of me and what I do, no. Why do you hate them, anyway? Apparently, they’re offering ‘salvation,’ if you have the right teeth for it.” I mock, rolling my eyes. 

Alkar bites back a smile, then gives up and just smiles, shaking his head. 

“Why do you have to be funny? I’m not done bein’ mad yet.”

I open my mouth to say something else smart, but then swallow it, shaking my head, albeit with a smile.

“Don’t encourage me. I try to keep my tongue civil. Particularly in places like this.”

“Batshit crazytowns?”

I chuckle, “Yeah. Also frightened, grief stricken, and angry.”

He looks away, but then looks back, matching my solemnity. 

“Those two don’t care about creatures, only monsters. The real monsters. The kind that mindlessly destroy everything they touch. So, it’s less about your teeth, and more about what you do with them. If you decide you’d rather be friends with humans and creatures, and stay out of trouble, than you’re the enemy, no matter how sharp your fangs are.”

“Huh. I wonder what they’d do if the Agency kicked them out of that ruin and made them live or die like they think everyone else should.” 

There goes my civility. I wince wishing I hadn’t said it out loud. There’s really enough cruelty in the world. 

Alkar laughs, “That’d take care of the problem right quick.”

He’s still shifting back and forth restlessly, but he’s way more relaxed than when he barged up to me with accusations. He’s obviously defensive to a fault, but his seeming reluctance to leave the conversation makes me think he’s lonely. Remembering how he was treated at the tavern, I find myself uncharacteristically wanting to reach out to him. Do something truly friendly, instead of just, ‘the right thing to fix or stop it.’ 

I immediately, viciously, drop kick the feeling out of my chest.

“So, how did you know what I was up to anyway? Have you been following me?”

The scowl returns and he bristles, “Don’t flatter yourself. I can just smell the twins from a mile off. I keep a close eye on them, and on strange hunters who appear out of nowhere and proceed hang out with them.”

“You must have the gift for perfect timing then,” I state as I continue down the road, deciding I need some food before heeding the call of the graveyard.

“Sure, I have tons of gifts,” Alkar surprisingly walks along with me, despite how restless he seems. 

“Too bad none of them are shoes.”

“Fuck you. I run faster without them.”

“Until you step on a sharp branch or a piece of glass.”

He scoffs, “Not with my senses, I avoid all that stuff.”

“Uh huh. You hungry?” I ask as the Wolf comes into view. 

He gives me a considering look. “You don’t have to keep feeding me.”

“I know I come off as a complete pushover-” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, and I grin, “but I promise I don’t do things I don’t want to, unless its my job. I’m more than willing to be generous with the Agency’s tab, so if you wanna benefit, eat food. If not, don’t.” 

He lets me order two plates and we ravish our respective meals in comparative silence. Alkar orders an ale after and I order a tea, sipping at it as I reflect over the day. Once my cup is empty I stand to my feet, pressing my hand to the seam where my prosthetic meets my remaining flesh leg, and barely managing to repress a wince, as the muscle in my thigh spasms. Alkar narrows his eyes at me, likely noticing my jerky movement, but he thankfully doesn’t comment if he did realize what the problem was. 

“I’ve got other business to finish. You gonna want a report on that too?”

Alkar glares, “Get the hell out of here,” he grumbles, continuing to complain to himself as I chuckle and head out the door. 


	5. Chapter 5

The graveyard is less devoid of life than I expected. Kinda. 

The vampire is there, being broody and stereotypical in the dark. I’m not afraid of him, despite our disastrous meet cute. He has yet to truly frighten me, or, in my mind anyway, given me a reason to be scared. He wanted to protect someone he cared about. I’m not _completely_ heartless, I can get that. He just went about it in a stupid way because he panicked. Which I also understand. A Hunter’s aura doesn’t exactly project warm, fuzzy, feelings no matter how cute the person we’re with is; we’re trained predators. 

But regardless, understanding only goes so far. Particularly with creatures.

I stand beside him and light up a smoke, sucking in a lungful of sweet, sweet, relief. The vampire raises a dark brow at me.  
  
“What? Not even I can be a hardass 24/7,” I prop my hip on a grave marker and take another hit, blowing the smoke away from us as I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “Can still take you, regardless.”

He grins at that, purposefully showing off his fangs. 

“You wanna test that?” 

I can tell he’s joking, but I consider it seriously anyway. I’ve never only sparred with a creature before. At the Academy we’re trained on weakened younglings, slowly moving up to more and more dangerous creatures. The intent to kill is always there on both sides. And it always ends in death. I take another toke and shake my head as I release it.

“Nah, I don’t want to make Ezra mad.”

Kazimir laughs, and I have to look away from how unfairly attractive it is. 

“You truly don’t. Although he’d be just as furious with me. Speaking of which-” he pauses to ensure he has my undivided attention, which I provide, dropping my hand to my lap.

“I wanted to apologize for how I handled things the other night. Things are… not as they should be between the Agency and the creatures in Lunaris. I felt that I had to ensure you were as unbiased as you seemed.” He glances away, looking pensive, “I don’t know how I could have done it another way, considering that time is of the essence.”

“What did you get from me?” I ask sharply.

He shrugs, “The vaguest impression before you shoved me out both mentally and physically,” he chuckles. 

At my raised eyebrow he continues. “I got the impression that you’re very… steadfast. When you have a goal you pursue it to the end, no matter where it takes you.”

“Is that good enough for you?” I take another drag, watching as the smoke quickly dissipates on the breeze.

“Would you let me take another look if I said no?” he asks, flippantly.

I consider it. I trust my gut more than anyone or anything else. Weapons break, people falter, instinct never fails. Ha! They can put that on my tombstone! It might even be hilariously ironic, which would make it an even better epitaph. Anyway, I give the vampire’s question a serious pondering before answering, because my gut is telling me he can be trusted.

“… sure, why not?” I stub out my blunt and push myself up from the gravestone, taking a step toward him. He just watches me, looking dubious as to my sincerity. 

“Unlike you, I don’t have eternity,” I urge, more teasing than actually impatient. 

Finally he steps forward. He raises his hand, although he makes no move to touch me. 

“I’ll have more precise control over what I actually see while I look if there’s a physical connection, but I swear my utmost effort and concentration regardless, if you’d rather not.”

“Go ahead.” 

Part of me is allowing this just because I’m curious. I want to know what it’s like. And how to defeat it. 

At the Academy we’re trained to stop it before it starts. It’s assumed that once a vampire thralls you, it’s over unless they’re convinced to let you go (usually via violence; if you’re lucky enough to have someone willing and able to take on a vampire for you,) but I’m pretty sure there has to be some way to throw it off. Someone just has to be brave and peer into the lion’s maw. Might as well be me, I’m already damaged goods anyway. 

He presses two cold fingers to my temple, and looks into my eye, his pupils dilating. I keep a tight rein on… everything, not really sure how this is going to go. The whispers start, and although they aren’t coherent, they urge me to relax. I instinctively resist, and the greater the urge grows, the more I resist until finally the vampire pulls back with a frustrated huff.

“You’re making this difficult.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing, how am I making it difficult?” I snap.

“In that case, you have a natural ability to resist mind control. When you’re expecting it anyway. And while I _could_ break through your shielding, it would be a terrible and unhelpful experience for both of us, and I have no desire to inflict harm. So you’re going to have to relax. Maybe finish your blunt.”

I huff out a laugh, but I’m digging it out of my pocket before he even finishes. I fish a fresh one out of my pack and offer it to him, and he raises his eyebrow at me.

“You do know mind altering substances don’t work on me?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m offering it to you despite the fact that you’re going to be rifling through my brain.” I waggle it at him, “It’s a friendly gesture.”

“In that case,” he takes it, and I fish out my lighter. 

I light it for him, briefly distracted by how close we are, and the fact that he has very nice lips. Apparently, I was a little loud with that thought, because they twitch into a smile. I slam down on my thoughts and force myself to look him in the eyes, prepared for him to be repulsed by me finding him attractive and wanting to get it over with. 

Instead his brow is furrowed, obviously confused by my abrupt change in demeanor. 

He pulls the blunt from his mouth without taking a drag. ”Are you okay?”

“Yeaaah,” I respond, confused myself. 

I look away and busy myself with smoking. 

I haven’t been beautiful for a long time now. I like to think I’m used to it, but the horrified recoil I tend to receive when people get a good look at me, isn’t exactly something a person really gets used to. 

… What is wrong with this vampire anyway? Besides the obvious. I mean, have you seen this guy’s shirts? … Is that it? He’ll fuck anything that moves? Eh, I’m not really getting _those_ kind of vibes exactly. Just… well, fuck if I know, this is so far out of my purview it might as well be up with the stars.

Thankfully the vampire doesn’t comment and eventually my tension dissipates, the silence between us becoming almost companionable. 

“You don’t have to-”

I roll my eyes, “Can it, icebox. I’m fine, and I’m ready.” 

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re terribly mean?” he pouts.

I grin as I face him, although my gaze remains fixed on his cheekbones, “Nope, never.”

He presses his fingers to my temple again and I have to suppress a shiver this time. It takes a gargantuan effort of will, but I manage to look him in the eyes again. I’m not immediately pulled toward his consciousness like I expected. He just looks at me for a moment, expression soft, open… curious. 

I _refuse_ to think about it.

“Are you ready?” he asks, voice soft.

“Yeah.”

His pupils dilate, and as before, I can feel somehow feel the whispers, as well incoherently hear them. 

It takes me a moment to find my equilibrium, and I hold firm until I do; more comfortable once I feel like I have some semblance of awareness and control over what’s happening. The whispers are there, but aren’t accompanied by the urge to relax this time, which allows me to relax enough to think. Instead of just dropping my shields, I slowly let my consciousness unfurl; like a flower when the sun rises.  
  
I feel a brush of surprise and delight that isn’t my own before it’s swept away and instead I just feel… presence. It isn’t overwhelming, or even intruding, its kind of like, I don’t know, actually being a flower and having someone look at you to see what kind you are. Without judging you for being a mutilated daisy instead of an unblemished rose or whatever. Or that might just be Finn. 

… It’s actually nothing like that, I just can’t find any better way to explain it. It’s judgment, whatever poetic way you want to look at it, and it still sits uncomfortably with me. But I got information and experience out of it too, not just him. That helps ease my pride.   
  
Finn steps back, and I blink a few times, studiously looking away from him while I regain my bearings.

“Feel better?” I ask, frowning as I resist the urge to grab another smoke, tapping my fingers against the side of my leg instead.

“Yes,” he states, watching me carefully. 

“Aren’t the ancient gods of judgment supposed to reward you if they judge you worthy?”  
  
The vampire smirks, “Did you have something in mind?” 

His voice is positively sinful, and my blush is instant and intense. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, and I snap it closed. Still blushing, I hurry past him, brushing his sleeve with my own as I head deeper into the cemetery. 

“Come on ice box, I want you to be my nose and eyes while I do my Hunter thing at the crime scene,” I state, moving toward the part of the graveyard that’s been tugging at my senses for the last half hour. Work. Work is good. Work is safe. Kinda. Not really. Safer than pretty people. 

Thank the gods, the vampire doesn’t press it and we walk toward the scene in silence. 

It’s easy to tell when we get to the right place. The ash on the ground, still perfectly captured in a human silhouette is a big clue. The Enforcers must have preserved the scene with magic. 

Finn crouches down, picking up a shard of a shattered gravestone. It still has blood on it, and he glances at me before sniffing at it. He crinkles his nose, obviously repulsed by the scent he picks up and I snort out a laugh. He hands it to me.

“I suggest you keep that. It’s like nothing I’ve smelled before, and I’ve eate- uh, _smelled_ a lot of different things in my time.”

“Uh huh. I guess I don’t want to trade ‘worst things I’ve eaten’ stories with an immortal. You didn’t get anything from the victim, or anything familiar?” I slip the shard into an empty pocket for safekeeping.

“Definitely not the victim’s. It smells… off. If it’s from a creature, it’s not one I’ve come across in my six hundred years.”

I nod, casually casting out my senses to ensure we’re not being watched. “Alright. My turn.”

Closing my eyes, I let my mind settle, hearing, smelling, and feeling and then letting all those distracting senses settle into the background so I can more effectively use my sixth sense. I start with just a general scan of the crime scene, sucking in a sharp breath when my consciousness is immediately bombarded with emotions not my own. 

Terror, pain, love. Powerful and unconditional, so much so that it doesn’t even feel real to me, giving me a sense of vertigo as I grapple with a concept of love so vastly different than my own. All of the emotions are far more intense than I’ve ever experienced from a scene before, and it’s difficult for me not to shield myself from it. I have to accept it so I can understand it. So I do, gritting my teeth against the pain.

‘Leave while you still can,’ a voice without sound echoes in my ear.

A panicked force pushes at me, trying to get me to flee, but it’s weak and I don’t budge. 

“Cut it out. Help me, help you; who did this?” I ask, wondering if it will make a difference. 

Maybe I’m just experiencing a memory? I hear Finn calling to me, but it’s indistinct and garbled, like I’m underwater. 

‘No help, just death. You can’t stop it. I tried, I failed.’ 

Well, that answers that question.   
  
“You know what they say about ‘if at first you don’t succeed.’”

But the spirit doesn’t respond, it’s presence abruptly disappearing. 

I hiss, as a sharp frisson of pain assaults my senses. I open my eyes, frustrated and scowling, to find Kazimir crouched in front of me, concern etched on his stupid pretty face. 

“Are you okay? What the _fuck_ was that? I… I wasn’t listening, but I couldn’t block it out. He was just so LOUD.” 

I haven’t seen Kazimir this startled and human-like before, and I take his offered hand without even thinking twice, letting him help me up. I also hadn’t realized I’d fallen to my knees, but apparently I _had_ budged at some point. Not cool. 

The second I put my weight back on my prosthetic, I stagger with all the grace of a drunken moose. Kazimir catches me before I fall on my ass, pulling me close to his body with one arm, like I’m a fucking dainty ballerina. I look up at him with a wide eye, feeling… out of sorts, but like, times one thousand. 

Finn keeps a firm hold on me. His face is very close to mine and I watch his lips move, barely hearing what he’s saying. 

“Can you stand? Did you damage your prosthetic?”

“Uhhh…” I respond intelligently. 

I snap back into reality, and nod my head, and then shake it, then groan and lower it as it doesn’t take kindly to being shaken around by a moron. I keep myself very still, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. When I open them, I look down at my leg, and make an attempt to move it.

Something snags and I hiss out a pained breath. 

“Something got wrenched out of place. It happens sometimes. That or the joint gets stuck.” 

Forgetting about my awkwardness, I grab onto his shoulder.

“Help me sit down so I can fix it.”

He does, far more gently than is necessary, like I’m fragile, and I cling to him for a second, overwhelmed by how fragile it makes me _feel_. 

I keep my face resolutely turned away from him and my feelings in lockdown as I pry my fingers from his shoulder. 

“Thanks,” I mumble, pulling away and busying myself with pulling up my pant leg. 

I get it to my knee before I realize I really don’t want him seeing this part of me. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for any unwanted visitors,” Finn says before I can say anything, standing and taking a few steps away. 

He’s turned away, although not completely in the opposite direction so we can still talk without having to raise our voices. Which is good because I like to chat while doing dirty work.

“So what did you hear?”

“Nothing coherent, just… noise. But it was intense. Are you sure you’re okay? Besides the leg.”

I take a moment to run an assessment, trying to sense anything past the constant pain that is my wrecked body, so I can maybe notice a fun, new, pain experience. There’s a sharp, pinched feeling behind where my left eye would be if it still existed. I’m not sure I would call it a pain, but it is new. 

“Not sure,” I grunt, as I tug up my pant leg past the point where it wants to stretch. 

“That’s never happened before. Usually I just get feelings, or hear things, I’ve never actually communicated with a spirit before.” 

Considering it’s something new, even if it wasn’t exactly helpful, I should probably inform Enforcer Willenheim. Yay.

Finn shifts restlessly, turning so that he can glance at me from the corner of his eye, but not actually look at me. 

“You should see Ezra, just to make sure you’re okay. He can take a look at your prosthetic too.”

I make a noncommittal sound and he turns back. 

I slam the heel of my hand against the side of my super sexy pitted, and slashed wooden thigh a few times, then stretch out my leg, feeling for anything pinching or sticking or any of the other issues I’m always having. It’s still not right and I smack it a few more times, sighing in relief as something shifts and the pain returns to its normal level. I quickly roll down my pant leg, before carefully standing to my feet. 

Finn’s there, his hand at my elbow, and I open my mouth to snap at him for treating me like a cripple when a wave of dizziness hits me and I sway again, because this is my life now. He holds me steady, less closely this time thank goodness, for the sake of my sanity. 

“Hunter, I really-”

“I have lived without your advice for awhile now, vampire. Cram it,” I snap.

He does, although he has to sigh about it. Finally I straighten up, and neither my stomach or head makes any protest to the movement, so I move out of his reach, and take a deep breath.

“There. All good.” I turn back to him, my emotions are still a tangle of disbelief and confusion when it comes to him. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

He shrugs, spreading his arms out in a magnanimous gesture, “I’m hardly fragile, Hunter.”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, but still. I value-” I was going to say civility, but it isn’t that at all. I’d happily exchange friendly ‘fuck you’ gestures with anyone. It’s control I value. Particularly my own self-control. 

“It’s important for a Hunter to keep their composure.”

Oh, see what I did there, I made it about the job instead of about me. Deflection at its finest. Indeed, Kazimir raises his intriguingly scarred eyebrow at me. 

I just raise a challenging eyebrow right back. He grins, shaking his head as he laughs. 

I turn away, intending to go hunt down the witch. 

“You’ll go to see Ezra?” he asks.

“Who in their right mind would pass up a good excuse to see Ezra?” I laugh, looking back over my shoulder. The vampire’s countenance and posture remain relaxed, and he’s grinning. Interesting.

“Well, some people have more pride then sense.”

“Alkar,” I state immediately.

The vampire laughs again, “Got it in one. You truly are the cream of the crop.”

I roll my eyes and wave him off, continuing on my way, “Course I am. See you around, vampire.”

“Good night, Hunter.” 


	6. Chapter 6

I’m nearing Ezra’s shop, when I hear someone call out my title and turn to find Piper Meriman walking toward me. 

“Glad I caught you. I needed some time to cool down earlier, but I wanted to apologize,” she says as she stops beside me.

“You don’t need t-”

“Yeah, I really do,” she protests, putting up a hand in a stopping gesture. “It’s been a rough few weeks, and I often let my passion overrule any rational thoughts I swear I am capable of having.” She frowns, shaking her head, “It’s… unbecoming of me, at a time when I should be doing everything I can to support you and the work we’re all trying to do. So, with that thought…” 

She sticks out her hand, daggers clanging in her holster as they move along with her, “The name’s Piper Meriman.” She rolls her eyes, taking a deep breath before her next sentence. “ _Major_ Piper Meriman.”

I shake her hand, and she grins, sharp, yet still friendly, and I return it, giving her hand an extra squeeze before letting go. This is what I’d been hoping for, that camaraderie that’s so easy to fall in to with another Hunter. Regardless of our _selves_ , Hunters know each other. We all have the same foundation, the same path, and we’re all prepared to meet death on it. It makes us unique… if the person describing us is kind. Other words tend to be, strange, weird, and _fucking insane_.

“Nice to meet you, Hunter Meriman,” I reply. 

I put a finger to my lips, and pretend to think very hard, “You know, I met a Piper Meriman the other day who looked remarkably like you. She was a reaaaal-” I laugh, as she shoves at me, and we start walking together.

“I take it all back, you’re obviously terrible.”

“Hey! I was going to say, ‘a real gorgeous and formidable woman.’”

“Uh huh.” She rolls her eyes, but I think I can see a bit of a blush. Ha. Cute. This is so much easier with a fellow Hunter.

“So what are you up to this fine evening?” she asks me as we meander along the quickly emptying streets.

“Looking for Ezra, actually.”

She frowns, looking me over, “You get banged up already?”

“Not really. You offering?”

She snorts a laugh, and quite unlike me, is somehow charming regardless of the indelicacy of it. I really like her. Gods, what I wouldn’t give to have her as a partner. Not that Hunters get Hunters for partners. Not that I’ve heard of anyway. 

“You’re almost as bad as the vampire,” she laughs.

I gasp, pressing my hand to my chest, in a theatrically offended manner, “How dare you compare me to that walking smarm factory!”

“I dare because it’s true,” she puts her hands on her hips, “Now, you. Ezra’s unwinding with a glass of wine at the tavern, but he’ll be glad to drop everything if you need help. And I mean it when I say ‘glad.’ He’s weird like that.” She wrinkles her nose like she can’t even vaguely understand his state of mind, which I totally relate to. 

She slaps me on the back companionably, “But, he’s our weirdo, and right useful to. Off you go now.” She pushes me in the direction of the tavern, albeit, not too roughly.

“Yeah, yeah, see you later,” I call over my shoulder.

“Night.”

***  
  
Maybe I can get out of having to report to Willenheim if I get healer’s orders to go straight to bed. With that happy thought I scan the patrons, my lips twitching into a smile when I catch sight of a shock of white hair. 

Ezra beckons me over to the semi-secluded corner table he’s occupying, looking so genuinely glad to see me that I’m left feeling happy and yet wrong-footed all at once. It’s strange and makes me feel a little nervous. Still, I can’t help but smile in return. 

“It’s good to see you! I hope Lunaris hasn’t scared you off yet?” he greets me as I slide into a chair across from him.

“Me? Scared?” I laugh as my palms start to sweat, my brain starting to panic about saying something dumb in front of a gorgeous person, I would really like to like me. Stars, I’ve devolved into a teenager! There is no hope! 

The waitress comes by and I order a cup of tea, already relishing the thought of having something warm in my hands.

“You never get scared?” he asks. 

I’m surprised his voice isn’t teasing, or even sounding dubious. He seems to genuinely believe it’s possible for me to never be afraid. Well, I suppose Hunters do tend to get that sort of reputation. 

“Well,” I say, pausing as I make an effort to be honest. “I wouldn’t say never. Sure, I’m not usually afraid when I’m fighting, or tracking down a creature, or really anything to do with my job. I’m too focused on success to be afraid. When success means people live and failure means people die, you need to pay close attention to every single detail of what is happening around you, all the time. Outside of the job is a whole ‘nother story.”

The surly waitress comes by with my tea, setting it down so firmly it rattles in the saucer. I thank her and pick up the tea cup, letting the warmth ease some of the ache in my hands after spending so long in the cold.

“That sounds exhausting. What’s it like, to be bound to do whatever you’re told?”

I pause in the act of taking a sip of tea, the cup tipped against my bottom lip, because... wow. Unless they’re glad about us being leashed, most people really don’t like to think about exactly how ‘bound’ we Hunters are, and here’s Ezra just popping the question about how I feel about it in the middle of the tavern. 

I set my tea cup down and drag my eyebrow down from my hairline just in time for him to realize he might have overstepped.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit personal, wasn’t it. You don’t have to answer,” he hurries to reassure me, reaching for my hand that was resting on the tabletop. He pulls back before he touches me, looking conflicted as if he’s not sure what the right thing to do is. 

I can’t help but smile. It’s nice to not be the only one who struggles with interacting with people who are so very different from yourself.

I spread my fingers in a waving off gesture, “Don’t worry about it. Just because it’s not your average conversation fodder, doesn’t mean it’s wrong to be curious about it. I guess I’d have to say: it’s my life. I appreciate it as it is, because I’ve seen what happens when Hunters get bitter over what they’re missing.” 

Yeah, ‘seen.’ In the fucking mirror.

“I find it difficult to imagine, finding peace amongst so much… chaos.”

I shake my head, unable to leave him with an impression that’s so far off the mark. “No, Hunters have to do the work and make their peace. The only peace we find is in the grave.”

His expression is stricken and I stare, at a loss as to what upset him. 

“What?” I ask.

He blinks rapidly, shaking his head, “That doesn’t bother you?” His voice is thin, upset, shocked.

I shift in my chair, restless, rubbing my fingertips across the pad of my thumb under the table. 

This conversation has been a lot more heavy than I had anticipated, and I’m trying really hard to be… normal? Likable? I don’t know. Honest, but like, cool, sweeping aside a curtain honest, not messy, exposing your beating heart honest, but it keeps veering into messiness because Ezra cares and can’t help but to care- it’s who he is. 

…I want him. 

Not like that. I mean, yeah, totally like that, but not just like that. I want this man to care about me. So this, _thing_ , this feeling, growing between us? I’m going to grab on with both hands and not let go. Not unless he says so. 

Decision made, I stand to my feet, while Ezra stares, eyes wide and shocked. I reach out toward his hand and wiggle my fingers. 

“Come on, if I’m gonna ruin your drinking time anyway, I’m going to steal you away so I can smoke.”

He stands to his feet, shaking his head, as he collects his wineglass in one hand and slips his other into mine. 

“You aren’t ruining anything. I should have-”

“Shush, shush, shush,” I chide, with a lopsided grin, “I’m abducting you. We can chat once we reach the secondary location.”

Ezra gives me a fond, if slightly exasperated look. I wink in return, leading him from the tavern, not letting go of his hand. 

Aaaand, the stress hormones have kicked in. The world seems brighter, louder, and yet slowed down; all just for me. 

Despite my assessment of the situation, I don’t have a lot of control over it. Awareness, yes, control… ehhh. I mean, I’m not going to go on a rampage, or break what few morals I have left, but that doesn’t mean I won’t cause damage. I try to tell myself I should be worried, I _should_ worry, but it can’t pierce the adrenaline fog that’s hijacked my brain. 

I lead Ezra to the alley behind the tavern, prowling up and down it once to make sure we’re alone. I offer a smoke to Ezra, who politely refuses, before lighting up, sucking in a lungful of sweet, sweet, calm. Kind of. The edge of one high is blunted (ha!) by the other. I’m still restless, moving much more than I usually would, my self-control in the gutter, while my self-confidence takes to the skies. 

“Will you tell me your name?” Ezra asks suddenly. 

My gaze flies to him, mid-inhale. 

“I wanted to ask if you’re okay, but I realized I couldn’t, not really, without knowing your name. I don’t want to ask a generic question, and I’m pretty sure if the Hunter was needed right this second, you would be ready. I want to know if _you’re_ okay.”

I exhale and smirk at him, prowling closer till I’m looming over him, my arm propped up against the wall behind his head. 

“And what will you give me, in return for my name?” I ask, in a low, warm, voice. 

My grin is so wide and toothy, I can feel it pressing harshly against the sharp edges of my mask. 

Surprisingly, Ezra doesn’t bolt or zap me in the face. In fact, he has to tilt his head to look me in the eye, and when he does his pupils dilate and his breath goes shallow. My heart speeds up and I lean in closer. 

“Hmmm?”

“What would you want?” he asks softly. 

I take another drag of my blunt, tilting my head to blow the smoke up and away from us. From the corner of my eye I watch him watching me, his gaze on my bared throat and then rising to my lips and finally to my eye. 

I lean back down so that my face is hovering above his upturned one. 

“I think a kiss should suffice.”

“Oh,” he breathes, “Yes, I agree.”

I smile, more genuine this time, softer, as I slowly start to come down and it starts to hit me that he’s seriously not affected by how I look, and not scared even when I’m behaving… badly. 

“My name is Sepporah,” I tell him.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I press a finger under his chin, still smiling. “I’ll come to collect my kiss later, sunshine.” 

I push back from the wall, and hold my hand out to him. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

He takes my hand, and we walk in silence for awhile. I’m happy as a clam, practically sauntering as I smoke and enjoy the big open sky, the sharp bite of the cold, the good company I chose. 

“Oh yeah,” I break the silence, “Finn told me to come see you.”

“Oh?” He stops in the middle of the street, “You _are_ hurt, aren’t you?” He steps back so he can look me up and down. “What happened?”

“Eh, I let a vampire judge my soul or heart or something, a ghost tried to boss me around and then he disappeared when I wouldn’t listen, and now it feels like he’s maybe stuck in my head. Probably brooding in despair while keeping secrets like everyone el- Hey!”

Ezra drags me off to the side of the road with surprising strength, his expression all business.

“Alright, tell me where your pain is. On a scale of one to ten-”

“Ezra,” I interrupt as gently as I can. He looks up at me with those big beautiful green eyes, and I almost forget what I had been going to say. 

“I can’t tell you things like that. Pain just is for me. It’s everywhere, all the time; it doesn’t fit on a scale. Drives the healers batty, cause I can’t tell them what they want to hear, that they fixed me all up.”

“Well, I’m not just any healer, I can-”

“No,” I interrupt again, because I can’t do this, I can’t bear the thought of him being disappointed in himself for not being able to fix me. 

“I appreciate the thought, I really do, but some things can’t be fixed. And this body, horribly flawed as it is, is one of the few things I control. I need you to let me control it. Okay?”

His brow furrows, “Of course. I would never- I wouldn’t do anything to you without your permission, Sepporah; never. Except save your life. Sometimes people aren’t exactly capable granting consent at times like that.”

“Alright then,” I grin, “You have my permission to save my life if it comes down to that.”

“Will you at least let me give you something for your head?”

“Sure.”

He fishes around in the pouch that’s attached to his belt, pulling out a small vial full of what looks to be some sort of herb or flower. 

“Here,” he hands the vial to me, “it’s just some feverfew and butter burr. Crush it into some boiling wa-”

I tip the contents into my mouth, chewing briskly. Dry, flaky, but the taste isn’t terrible. Wrinkling my nose, I swallow as quickly as I can. 

“Weird, but not near as bad as I was expecting,” I say , handing the empty vial back to him.

Ezra dazedly takes it back, looking torn between multiple conflicting desires. Finally, he bursts out laughing.  
  
“I can see I’m going to have my work cut out for me with you,” he teases, shaking his head as he slips the vial back into his waist pouch. 

I pout, “I was just saving time! I know how it works.”

Ezra purses his lips, but doesn’t argue, “Now, I want you to go back to the inn and go straight to bed. No detours, no delays- no matter what.”

“Well, if I come across the murderer I’ll let them know, but I can’t make any promises that they’ll be reasonable.” 

He narrows his eyes at me dangerously.

I put my hands up and start backing away, “Okay! Okay! I’m going.”

“Sepporah,” he calls out before I get very far.

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you’re here. And… even more glad I’m getting the chance to know you.” 

Gods, that’s the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. It fills me up with a foreign sort of warmth that I immediately want more of, like some sort of… dragon hoard of affection. 

“I feel the same way about you,” I dare to say. “Night, Ezra.”

“Sleep well, Sepporah.”

***

I make it back to my room at the Wolf with no surprise murderer visits, or anything else. I carefully put away my weapons, then manage to shrug off my Hunter sash, coat, belt, vest, and shirt. I sit on the edge of the bed to yank off my boot and sock before crashing into the bed in only my trousers and bra, my typical sleeping attire when on the job, if I’m lucky enough to have a room.

Just before the blessed peace of sleep, a quiet, voice, heard only between my ears, whispers, ‘My name was James…’

I grunt because I’m still irritated at him, but I’m too tired to put my irritation into words which is probably why he decided to communicate right at that moment. 

***

Ezra enters the shop, pulling back the curtain to find a certain vampire lounging on his couch. Finn sits up once Ezra steps into the room, and the witch falls onto the sofa next to him with a tired sigh. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“Did the Hunter find you?” Finn finally asks. 

He can’t stop thinking about her mind. How it had opened and expanded, like one of those unfolding paper silhouettes, but one crafted by a masterful artist with an eye for beauty. 

“Se-,” Ezra cuts himself off, “Oh, yes, the Hunter. She did.”

Finn straightens remarkably quickly, peering at Ezra, “You found out her name? Did she tell you?” 

Ezra opens his mouth, but he interrupts, leaning back into his comfortable sprawl. “No, no, don’t tell me. I want to find out on my own.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest, “that would be rude.”

Finn’s brow furrows, “Is it actually a secret? I assumed it was just little-known.”

“Not a secret,” Ezra says, hesitantly, “I think it’s just not something she’s comfortable with people using until she chooses.”

Finn made a thoughtful sound, but didn’t reply right away. 

“She’s been alone a long time. Reminds me of someone I know.”

Ezra pats his arm, leaving his hand there as they just sit. When Finn next looks at Ezra he notices the witch is looking dreamy while blushing.

“Oh? What do we have here? Did you get to know the Hunter even better than that?”

“I- no,” Ezra’s blush intensifies. “I was just thinking about the debt I owe her.”

“From the look on your face, I can see it’s a titillating debt,” he waggles his eyebrows expressively.

Ezra rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop smiling. “I’m hoping so,” he murmurs.

Finn squeezes his leg as he moves to stand, “I hope so too,” he smiles. 

“I’m off to keep an eye on things, I just wanted to make sure the Hunter made it to you. Sweet dreams, Ezra.”

“Good night, Finn. Stay safe.”


	7. Chapter 7

  
My eyes snap open and I’m instantly awake thanks to the incessant sound of banging. Not that kind of banging. Angry, door meet fist, banging. 

I jolt upright before I even think a thought, tearing off the covers and making it halfway out of the bed, intending to find out what is exploding, burning down, rampaging, or what-have-you, when the all-encompassing pain in my head, draws me up short. 

The abrupt movement of sitting up seems to have disturbed the pressure inside my skull, resulting in a dizzying wave of pain that makes my ears feel plugged, before settling behind my eyes and transforming into a pounding ache so fierce, my stomach swoops in distress. 

I groan, putting a hand to my belly, but when there’s no accompanying rush of saliva, I force myself to my feet, hissing in pain as my leg reminds me of our other exciting moments from the previous night. 

Resolutely, I limp toward the door, hoping no one died while I was sleeping. 

“Hunter Lachesis-” I can feel the fury of General Willenheim’s aura in my _teeth_ as I reach for the door handle. I open it gently, so I have to move as little as possible.

My Enforcer, wearing a coat that gives the impression they butchered a polar bear for its fur and would do so again, takes one look at me, and shuts their mouth. 

“You look like shit,” they observe, with utmost tact and kindness. “What happened?” 

They don’t wait for me to answer before shooing me back into my room and following me inside, shutting the door behind them. Willenheim takes a moment to frown at everything. 

“This is what the agency provided for your accommodations? Disgraceful,” they sneer. 

Turning back to me, they look surprisingly worried. 

“Sit, sit, sit,” they urge, when I make a half-hearted attempt to stand at attention. “Don’t worry about protocol right now. Tell me what happened.” 

Balancing as carefully as a tightrope walker, I make my way back to my bed and sit on the edge of it. I don’t even have enough brain capacity not swallowed up by pain and misery for sassy internal commentary. 

“Hold on a sec, General.” 

Gingerly, I reach for my bag that’s by my feet, fishing through it till I find my emergency cigarette case. I snap it open and take one, offering up the case to Willenheim more out of my habit of offering to anyone else suffering with me, than because I have any aspirations of them taking one. As expected they huff and refuse. More for me. Although I might benefit more if they took one. 

I light up and suck in a breath laden with pain relief, and even better, now have something to do with hands. The General is once again surprisingly considerate as they wait for me to come back to life. They don’t even tap their exquisitely booted toes. 

When I look back at them, they’re frowning, but it’s a worried frown as they look me over. I look down at myself and realize I’m still only half dressed. I hadn’t noticed in my rush to find out what was going on, and now I hesitate before deciding I just don’t give a fuck, and take another hit.

“Don’t worry, I’m still got plenty of fight left, General,” I break the silence after exhaling. 

Their gaze flies to my own, that charming furrow between their brow making an appearance.

“I’m not worried about that Hunter. I’m worried that you haven’t been receiving proper care.”

I shrug, “Sometimes you get the Witch who’s fresh off a nap, and sometimes you get the one who’s been awake for 48 hours. Sometimes all you have is your own wits. Everyone’s just trying to do their job and make it to the next day.” 

Once I feel a little more myself, I decide I do want to at least put on a proper shirt, and snatch the one off the floor, ignoring Willenheim’s sniff of disdain. I slip it over my head and shift into a more comfortable position. 

“Anyway, let’s start story time, shall we?”

I start with following my gut to the graveyard and meeting Kazimir, leaving out the mind-reading, instead just mentioning that I took him up on his earlier offer of Clan Kazimir’s services. 

I tell them about the strange, repulsive, blood, then I attempt to explain what happened when I used my Hunter senses.

“So, I cast out my senses, and I get the normal rush of feelings, even though they are much stronger, than usual. A crushing sense of failure, lost love, fear, pain, but I also get more than that.” I pause, scratching my head with my hand still holding my smoke, “I- he spoke to me. The Hunter.” 

I’m watching Willenheim’s face, and they just stare in shock.

“Spoke? Are you certain?”

“I’m certain; they responded to me.”

They suck in a shuddering breath, then grimace, closing their eyes and placing a shaking hand against their brow. 

“This is-” They sigh, dropping their hand from their eyes and looking at me. “Obviously this is something Harry needs to hear. However,” they pause, and I’m briefly left completely baffled as to why there is a fucking ‘however’ to consider. 

“It will have to wait until after the Lunar Festival.”

“After, the what now?” I say, certain I must have misheard, because there is NO WAY they’re telling me to postpone revealing new information on the case I was brought here to solve, for a FUCKING FESTIVAL. 

The General’s expression goes through a complicated rigmarole as they cycle through emotions I can no longer feel through their aura. But I definitely see fear, uncertainty, and of course, irritation.

“Regardless of the fact that we are in the middle of a crises, the Lunar Festival is unavoidable. Harry thinks that if we postpone or cancel it, the town will erupt into chaos. They need stability more than ever right now and the last thing we need is more panic.”

It’s official, Addington has lost his damn mind and is dragging Willenheim along to Looney Town with him.   
  
“Wow. Okay.”

Willenheim narrows their eyes at me, obviously suspicious at my lack of concern and or fury. And no, it’s not the pot. It’s a plant, not magic ‘nice personality’ hookah fodder. No, I just refuse to buy in whenever crazy people start crazy shit like holding a festival on _murder night_. 

Someone starts acting like logic doesn’t apply to them, I immediately check out, emotionally, if not physically. Because things are about to crash and burn, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna burn along with them again.  
  
“I must admit, I expected more of a reaction from you.”

My first instinct is to say ‘you don’t really know me,’ but that’s ruder than I want to be to them right now, and also I have weirdly felt like I ‘know’ several people in this strange-ass town despite literally only speaking to them a couple times.

“I’m adaptable,” I reply, which is… actually more true than I realized when I said it.   
  
“Well- good then.” They sigh again, looking reluctant, “Trust me, I know this is… abhorrent, if I’m quite honest.”

They go on to tell me about Harry’s ailing leadership, and how they need their leader back, and I’m left wondering how Addington got this far as a leader if he refuses to actually face hardship when it comes to call. It doesn’t seem like this is usual, so why is this case affecting Addington so… 

“General Addington’s Hunter was one of the victims, weren’t they?” I blurt out, because I’m an idiot. And also a genius. I look up at Willenheim, their face a grimace of both shock and pain. 

“James, right?” I add.

August releases a shaky breath and slowly lowers themselves to sit on the edge of the bed. They’re close to me, but not uncomfortably close and I just wait. 

“Yes-” They pause and look me in the eye, “May I call you, Sepporah?”

Hmm…I’m not entirely sure about August. There’s certainly things to like about them, maybe even many things, but there’s plenty of reason to hesitate as well. But, going by my, ‘don’t mess with crazy,’ rule, it’s in my best interest to agree. Not that August is like, actual crazy, but ‘going along with crazy’ is just as bad when you’re collateral damage. 

“Yeah, sure,” I smile.

The relief on their face is actually a little sweet. And guilt inducing. I sternly remind myself that I’m a survivor, and us survivors don’t get to be too picky about how we go about surviving. Sometimes. Like when it comes to bosses. And it’s only my name, sheesh, it’s not like I’m encouraging a love affair. 

“You are correct, Sepporah. James is-” they wince, “James Lane, was also Harry’s husband.”

Ohhhhh…. Shit. 

Fucking, fuckity, fuck. No wonder this case is a nightmare. Poor Addington. Fuck, I feel like shit. I mean, yeah, he’s being a shitty leader, but he’s being a pretty fucking normal human being for wanting to capture his husband’s murderer, and yet having a difficult time actually being the best person for the job because he’s utterly wrecked. 

There really needs to be something to prevent this sort of thing from happening though. Someone needs to take the reins from him, that’s for sure.  
  
“Wow. I don’t know what to say,” I heave out a heavy sigh, grimacing, “I never know how to respond when it comes to shit like this. But I can tell that James left a big hole in this town and it’s hurting the people left behind. And I’m sorry it happened.”

Tears fill August’s eyes and they blink them away, giving me a watery smile.

“Well, I believe you just responded beautifully, thank you. James was a well-loved figure in Lunaris, and for good reason.” They smile wistfully, shaking their head. “He was so quiet, you know; unassuming. You’d think he’d never get a word in edgewise with Harry around, but the second James opened his mouth, Harry would go completely silent, looking like he was about to witness a masterpiece being made.” 

They laugh, obviously remembering something in particular, “And James never disappointed. He had an aptitude for seeing the truth of a situation and cutting right to the core, and he knew when to do it with razor sharp wit, and when to do it with utmost kindness.”

I smile, “I wish I had gotten the chance to know him.”

August smiles at me, a real smile, surprising me to the core, “He would have quite liked you, Sepporah, I’m sure of it.” 

They sigh and tiredly stand to their feet. “Now, I hope you understand, we still have a festival to endure. All of this will keep till tomorrow.”

I stand as well, now that I’m not in danger of face planting or vomiting.

“Yes, General.”

“The Festival itself takes place in the marketplace. Please represent us well, Hunter. All eyes will be on you. This is the perfect opportunity to introduce yourself to the town.” 

They frown at the scattered pieces of clothing from last night, “I suggest you wear something a little more interesting. And find someone to escort you, I don’t want you wandering around alone, it would look awkward. We need to show solidarity.”

“Uhhh…General, I’ve been out in the boonies for over a decade. I own two uniforms, and a few extra clothes to go under or over them, depending on the weather and how fucked up they currently are.”

The General gives me an unimpressed stare, “Then I suggest you hurry to the shops, Hunter.”

Because the shops have such a wide and pleasing variety of clothes pre-made for 6’2” women, shaped like a battering ram, I don’t say, in a scathingly sarcastic tone. 

“Yes, General,” is the correct response that I give.

“Very good.” They adjust their coat, and pat down their hair as they prepare to leave. “You have someone in mind to accompany you, yes?”

I completely forgot about that in my clothes-related irritation. 

Of course, the obvious choice is Ezra, assuming he isn’t already accompanying someone, which seems unlikely. Soooo… Finn? Hm, they might actually be going together. And if they don’t mind a tag along, that’s one thing, but, well, I don’t really know what’s going on there. 

Piper? Will she be working? Seems likely. 

That leaves… wolf boy. Which might be fun. It’d certainly irritate August.

I shrug, “It’s last minute. But I’ll figure something out one way or another, General.”

“See that you do,” they reply, “Good evening, Hunter.”

Have I said before that I find August’s ‘take no prisoners’ attitude about excuses fucking hot? ‘See that you do.’ That’s some spicy stuff, right there. Especially with those eyebrows, and those boots. August has a good thing going, that’s for sure. 

Not that I’m about to toss over my feelings for Ezra or anything, but if a girl can’t appreciate pretty people in her head, what the fuck is she supposed to do? Knit? Actually, knitting is awesome. Not as sexually satisfying though. 

***

I run into the demon on my way to the shops, which will likely be closing up any minute. That means I don’t have time to be my normally ‘very cautious about demons’ self.

“Hello, Omen,” I greet him politely, with a distracted smile. 

“Hunter Lachesis. It’s good to see you again.” His smile is wide and more relaxed then I would expect, given what I know of his temperament. Maybe the festival has him in high spirits? I actually almost startle when he falls in beside me, practically jogging to match my hurried strides. 

“Is everything all right?” 

“Ehhh…well, some of it is, and some of it isn’t, which is the usual. So I guess, yes- everything is all right.”

He laughs, and I glance at him, a smile quirking at the corner of my lips. 

The only way he’s the typical demon is that his glamour is lovely. The only demons I’ve met who laughed, cackled heinously for a truly irritating length of time. Thankfully, they tend to stop when you stick a sword in them. 

“What are you looking for?” he asks curiously, watching as I peer around at all the shop signs.

“Clothing. In particular interesting clothing that comes in big and tall. Probably doesn’t exis-”

“Oh! I know where you can look!” He seems very eager to help, and I’m not dumb enough to be led into a secluded dead end or anything, so I let him.   
  
We arrive at a store with a barely legible sign that looks like it’s about to fall off it’s post, the wood cracked and pitted. A thick frame of dust surrounds every pane in the badly streaked windows, but I can see a few racks of clothing inside. August would certainly never be caught dead here, that’s for certain. But it’s not like I have a whole lot of options, regardless. 

“Thanks, Omen. Guess I’ll see what I can find.” 

I have my hand on the door handle when I turn and peer at the demon’s clothes. They’re very fine, and pleasing to the eye. He wouldn’t require a deal if I ask him for fashion advice, would he? Even back in the day when I was the belle of the ball, it was other people who dolled me up, I don’t know shit about clothes.  
  
With the specter of August strangling me to death with a flower-print scarf dancing before my eyes, I decide to risk it. 

“Your clothes are very nice, Omen.” 

A little flattery can go a long way with a demon. Too far sometimes. But that’s a story for another day. 

“You wanna come along? Maybe you can prevent a disaster that ends in August condemning me to the dungeons for crimes against fashion.” 

I remember too late that Omen isn’t well versed in human sarcasm, but he seems to get the idea, if his giggle is to be believed. He seems a bit reluctant, although that could be for any number of reasons, so I wait. 

“I suppose I could try to help. I did do a lot of perusing when I chose my glamour. But I chose what I liked that I thought would fit in, not what the humans are currently pleased with.” 

“Yeah, but you did a good job,” I comment as I open the door, casting out my senses more widely as I step inside. 

“Thank you.” 

I glance back at him and then have to glance again, because he’s… blushing? Well that’s… something. I mean, it’s cute as hel- heaven? This really isn’t fucking fair. 

The shop is much cleaner than I expected based on the outside appearance, although the wares seem to be an odd assortment of things, with no attempt to make any sort of order. I head toward the clothing racks I’d seen through the front window, Omen close behind. 

I should really be on high alert. I should be ordering him around and demanding he be in sight at all times. Well no, because I normally would never have placed myself in this ridiculous situation. The Lunaris-crazy must be rubbing off on me. There is a _**demon**_ , literally on my heels. And I’m… pretty okay with it. Fucking nuts. Batshit bananas. 

I’m really not impressed with the stores offerings, although the sizes do seem to run larger than normal. I’m nearing the end of the rack when Omen pops up, looking far too excited. 

“I found something in the back, come on.”

“Uh, the back?” 

He didn’t break into the proprietor’s house, did he? My worries are assuaged when he just leads me to an almost hidden rack at the back of the store. 

I keep my senses on high alert, because while I’m starting to like Omen, I don’t trust him. But, I mean, he’s not special in that regard. I don’t trust anyone, and sometimes it’s not even about trust. It’s just training, experience, and instinct, all working in perfect harmony to make me a temperamental, paranoid, asshole, otherwise known as a Hunter. 

Omen holds up a jade green… blouse? I guess? 

“It matches your eye,” he says brightly. 

… It does. I’d forgotten my eyes had been green. Not that I’d expected the one left to change color, I’ve just avoided reflective surfaces for so long and avoided ever thinking about how I look or used to look, that if anyone had asked for some reason, I wouldn’t have known. But yes, I have green eyes. Just like my- 

Anyway! Clothes! … Demon. Festival…?! 

“What do you think?” Omen asks nervously, still patiently holding it up. 

I clasp the hem in my fingers, rubbing them over the fabric. It’s remarkably soft. I’m still not sure what it is. The shoulders and collar look pretty structured, like a jacket, even though the fabric isn’t thick enough for it to do anyone any bit of good as a jacket. Why??? There’s a few frills at the end of the sleeves, nothing hideous or inconvenient for sword-wielding. 

“I like it,” I finally declare. 

The relief on Omen’s face is so intense I almost feel like I should be offended. Did he think I was going to execute him if I found it lacking?? Well… I guess we both have some learning to do. 

“Thanks for your help, Omen, you really saved my bacon.”

“… bacon?” 

Okay, his confused face is flipping adorable. I feel like I need to punch something to get all the ‘awwww!’ out of my system now.

“When somebody saves your bacon, it means they’ve helped you out a lot and kept you from getting into trouble.”

“Oh! I’m glad! I don’t think I’ve ever saved someones bacon before, but I really like it.” 

Shit. This guy. The cute is just. _Really_ strong. 

I take the… jacket-shirt-thing, along with a pair of plain, but nicer than anything I own, trousers, up to the counter. 

The glowering shopkeeper, pointedly looks at the clock on the wall, but his glare has nothing on August Willenheim’s so I’m unmoved. I let him write up the receipt, but tell him to send the bill to the agency. His glower deepens, but he agrees, as shopkeepers usually do. 

And no, I’m not being an asshole. Apparently Hunters who’re lucky enough to get an in-town gig get paid, but I sure as hell don’t. A Hunter with their own money stockpiled might decide to do something with it; something that doesn’t benefit the agency. Like take a vacation to Aclea or something. They invest a lot in us Hunters, and they expect the maximum recompense. 

Considering what we face as a species, they aren’t exactly wrong in their attitude. Besides, what would we buy anyway? You can only carry around so much and it kinda needs to be the stuff that will keep you alive. 

I thank Omen again and we part ways, him, presumably to the beginnings of the festival, me to the Wolf to change. 


	8. Chapter 8

I throw on my new clothes, relieved that they fit, since I’d been so focused on acquiring them I forgot to try them on first; brush out my hair and expertly redo my totally ‘couture’ braid on each side look. 

I’m very briefly tempted to look in the mirror because I haven’t been this dressed up since… the literal worst night of my life, actually. The urge disappears as quickly as it appeared. 

This night is going to be difficult enough, I don’t need confirmation of what I already know. Both me and August are just gonna have to suck it up. This mug doesn’t do ‘pretty’ or ‘nice’ and if I look too much more ‘interesting’ no one will be able to look away. I’d be like a human gorgon or something. Nobody needs one of those.

I head toward Ezra’s shop, slowing as I see the magelight isn’t lit. I decide to knock anyway, just in case he’s in the midst of leaving, rather than already gone. 

As I raise my hand to knock, I sense the aura of certain dead man, turning to find Finn walking down the street, a friendly smile on his face. 

I’m… glad to see him. Which is weird. How many times have I said something is weird or strange since I’ve been in Lunaris? How long have I even been here? A year? A decade??

Finn stops in front of the shop.

“He’s on his way to the market.”

“How do you know I wasn’t looking for you?” I tease, drawing away from the door and joining him on the street. 

“Were you?”

I shrug, “I was told to have someone accompany me to the Festival, but it’s kinda, sorta, a little, tiny bit, last minute, and I don’t want to ruin anyone’s plans.”

“I’m sure adding you to the mix wouldn’t ruin anything at all,” that smooth motherfucker replies, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. 

Which it might not… how warm does- NOPE, not going there.

I narrow my eye at him, but before I can snap out a reply he goes on. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, inclining his head to suggest we continue on. His brow furrows and he looks at me a little more intently. “I was worried about you after… that.”

The bitingly sarcastic response I had on my tongue withers in the face of his concern, and I sigh in irritation over having to think of something _nice_ to say instead.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” 

Uggghhh. Too short. Too stiff. I suck at nice. I make a face and try again.

“Thanks for asking.”

Finn looks decidedly amused, although he surprisingly doesn’t tease. 

“I’m glad. Now,” he steps in front of me, but keeps walking, just backwards, “I happen to know that Ezra would love to accompany you. In fact, you could probably have your pick of about anyone in Lunaris. Didn’t you know that everyone here likes you? And not just because you’re the Problemsolver, here to save the day.”

“Did Lunaris collectively forget all my other nicknames? Or do you just not get those kind of rumors around here?” I ask, ignoring the ridiculous idea of of me having my pick of dates.

The vampire’s nose wrinkles, “Those old things?” He shakes his head, “The names are obviously wrong. Besides, Harry brought you here. That’s enough for most people around here, why should we think the tales have any merit?”

“Not all the names are wrong.”

The vampire stops and I stop, wary of what he’s going to say and wondering if I should have sidestepped him and avoided this.

“They’re wrong, Hunter, because it’s wrong to name someone after something that happened to them.”

“Are you done, Mr. Ethical?” I snap, because I really don’t have the time and energy to go poking through my trauma right now. And I’m an asshole. 

The vampire raises his hands and steps to the side, “I am. I apologize-”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. I-”

Sighing heavily, I awkwardly shift side to side, my gaze flicking everywhere but on him as I try to decide if I dare to tell the truth. I feel like I need to. Like I’ll regret it if I don’t. 

“I like that you care enough to say something. I… really appreciate it, actually.” I can tell that my cheeks are red, but I mean, it’s not like I can get much uglier, so I don’t bother trying to hide it. 

“Now, stop making me say nice things to you. It makes me grumpy,” I scowl. 

I start walking again and the vampire falls in step beside me, chuckling.

“I’m not making you do anything, Hunter. It may be that you actually like me,” he grins, looking smug, like that’s something to be proud about. 

What a weirdo.

“You take that back!” I bite back the stupid smile that’s threatening to ruin my act. 

“Make me.”

Because I’m that sort of person, I actually have to tamp down on the urge to tackle him. And maybe a little part of me wants to touch him. If I’m honest. Oh boy. This is just- _Ugh_. The crazy is definitely rubbing off. 

“I can’t, Willenheim would string me up if I started a brawl at the all important _Lunar Festival_ ,” I respond, my tone of voice conveying exactly what I think about this celebration.

“Aren’t you even a little excited to attend?” the vampire asks, with a knowing smile, “A night off, a pretty witch, right there by the discounted herbs.”

My gaze snaps in the direction he gestured to, I can’t help it. 

Finn chuckles again and I take a moment to stop and glare at him. 

I shift awkwardly as I try to decide how to do this name thing. I didn’t mean to make it weird, about people knowing and using my name. It just _is_. 

“Well, I’m off the find Alkar,” the vampire states, as he starts past me, “I’m counting on him to find us some trouble.”

I roll my eyes, “Well, if you find anything murdery, just call for me. It’s Sepporah.”

The vampire grins, walking backwards again and somehow managing to avoid colliding into anyone.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sepporah. Have fun.” He winks, and disappears into the crowd. 

Stupid, sleazy, fossil. I really don’t like him, even slightly. 

I walk up beside Ezra, who’s busy tucking a bundle of Skeletal Touch-Me-Nots into the pouch on his belt. 

“Party planning?” I tease, my smile growing when he looks up, his surprise turning to pleasure at seeing me. 

The warm feeling in my chest, is just… _wow_. _He’s_ just wow! How do people ever get used to this? 

He laughs, shaking his head, “Oh! Sepporah. I didn’t expect to see you standing there.” He tips his head, gesturing for me to follow him to the next stall, “And no,” he rolls his eyes playfully, “they’re for _medicinal_ purposes, not hallucinogenic ones.”

“Alright, Healer Lyons. I don’t judge either way,” I shrug, chuckling at how stereotypically ‘healer’ he sounds.

Ezra just smiles, shaking his head. He gets caught up in his bargaining, apparently quite happy for me to stay in his company as we go stall to stall through a rather astonishing variety of wares. He barters with a particularly stubborn herbalist over the price of her angelica root, and I watch in admiration as he deftly manipulates the deal in his favor. 

“You sly magician, you,” I smirk as we walk away from the stall.

His smile is a little smug, and that’s a good look on him too. 

“Running a business by yourself is difficult, you have to be smart.” 

And then we’re off to find a spell book, and honestly if anyone had told me that I’d have to spend the dreaded festival _shopping_ I probably would have faked my own death, but here I am, enjoying every second of it. 

“What made you choose healing as your specialty? I ask, after he tells me about his studies.

A sad look crosses his face. “Well, my dad was killed when I was quite young. My magic had manifested by then, but I was completely helpless.” He takes a deep breath, tears shining in his eyes. “From that day on I promised myself that if anyone I loved was ever in danger, I’d be able to help them. I haven’t broken that promise yet, and hopefully I never will.”

Shit. I flounder for a proper response.

“I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

He smiles, shaking his head, “I beat myself up about it for a long time, but I learned to turn my pain into something that can help others. It’s what my father would have wanted. He was such a kind man, so… I do it for him.” 

I place a hand on his arm, squeezing gently, “You’ve accomplished so much, Ezra. I’ve barely gotten to know you, and I already admire you greatly.”

“That means a lot coming from someone like you. You’re so brave, doing what you do,” he replies, placing his hand on mine and leaning into my touch. 

I wish it was bravery, but it’s mostly spite. I smile anyway, placing my other hand on top of his as we keep walking. 

“We’re both saving the world then, right?” 

“Yes, we are,” he laughs. “But really, thank you. I’m really lucky to be surrounded by such wonderful people.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but I guess we’re all trying to be.”

“That’s what matters,” he smiles. 

He’s cold so we go to get some hot chocolate, and of course, even so, he’s worrying over my health. We settle on the colorful cushions set out, Ezra humming in contentment, the steam from the hot drink swirling around his lips as he blows to cool it down. 

I pick out the marshmallows and eat them before they melt, and we sit and drink, people watching. 

Alkar goes running by, surprisingly nimble as he slips through the crowd. Piper meanwhile charges after him, cutting a large swathe through the crowd despite her short stature. The yelling probably helps. 

“I dread to think what he’s getting up to,” Ezra sighs, shaking his head. 

Briefly, I’m concerned he’s going to decide he should intervene, but he turns to me. 

“Now, tell me how you’ve been feeling since… _that_.”

I snort. “Yeah, _that_. Well, I did as the healer ordered and went straight to bed.”

“That’s good. It’s very important to follow your healer’s orders,” he replies, eyes sparkling. 

“Well, he was very convincing,” I smirk. “And then I was woken by a frothing at the mouth, Enforcer Willenheim, to find out that I slept all day and missed a meeting with Addington. Obviously, I survived, but it was a close call.”

Ezra purses his lips, but can’t help but to laugh, “I’m sorry it caused you so much trouble, but I’m very glad you survived.” 

I stand to my feet and offer my hand to help him up, “It’s my best talent. Shall we see what else this festival has to offer?”

“Yes! I want to find something else to do that will warm us up.”

Well, I can think of something, but it isn’t exactly festival appropriate. Well, if I were a little less eye catching, I would totally consider it festival appropriate. Shame wasn’t something I knew, back when I had a face, not that I’m particularly good at it now, and Ezra certainly tempts me. Makes me remember that utterly fearless girl I had been. 

Ezra leads us toward the music we can hear coming from the other side of the market. 

I spot Willenheim, although their back is to us, and immediately do an about-face, pulling Ezra in front of me, and slipping back into the crowd. 

“This way,” I whisper in his ear, “we’ll escape.”

“Escape what?” he whispers, eyes sparkling, utterly unafraid, despite me hauling him around. 

Gods, his fearlessness is a little terrifying. 

“General Grumpy Glitterpants.”

“Ohh… good idea.”

We take a detour, both of us giggling like kids getting away with a prank before winding up near the band playing. There’s already quite a crowd gathered to dance. 

“May I have this dance, dashing Hunter?” Ezra asks, smile playing about his lips as he bows, extending his hand. 

I freeze, completely unable to respond as my all of my thoughts up and spontaneously combust. Dance? Like, touching and holding?? In public??? With me????? 

Ezra waits patiently for me to remember how to move my lips, and tongue and make them do sounds. 

“Yes!” 

Okay, that was a bit too loud and intense, but I don’t really have the presence of mind to worry about it because I’ve snatched up his hand before he comes to his senses, and now we are apparently striding toward the other dancing people. 

I put my hand on his waist, and he puts his on my shoulder without complaint, our other hands joining, fingers entwining like it’s the natural thing to do. 

In between one breath and the next I guide us into the swirling colors that make up the throng of dancers, spinning and stepping in time with the quick, cheerful, beat. 

I have to improvise a few times as my prosthetic doesn’t move nearly as gracefully as I’m capable of, but just like with fighting, I can make do, and Ezra adjusts beautifully. 

The band is talented, the music a guide, but also a force. A force of joy, that finally makes me loosen up, my strict attention on the technical aspects fading as the music works its own special magic. Still, it can’t compare to the magic that is Ezra. 

The first time he laughs, my attention jerks to him, heart almost literally shrieking in my chest as it stupidly assumes he’s laughing at me. Which he isn’t. Of course he isn’t, I know that. Still. Heart and mind don’t always agree on things, particularly while trying to ignore painful lessons. And when it comes to Ezra all my bravado flies out the window and I’m left with no shield. Unless I’m high on adrenaline apparently. 

After awhile the laughter stops being terrifying and is instead, exhilarating. I’m making him happy. Well, not just me- fuck it- yes ME, ME, I am making Ezra happy. ME, the hideous Hunter with a heart of… brass? Maybe. Bronze? Eh, who gives a fuck as long as Ezra is happy with it? 

He looks up at me with those bright green eyes, our bodies pressed close, and I forget, not only my name, but my face, my pain, my entire past that doesn’t have him in it. 

The song comes to an end with a dramatic flourish, and instinctively I follow it, closing off the dance by tipping Ezra back, and back, my arms steady as he lets himself go, trusting me to support him. When I pull him back upright, I’m so overcome by his instantaneous yielding of trust, that I can hardly bear look at him, afraid I might… get something in my eye. That would cause it to well up with…sweat. But I can’t stop smiling. 

The clapping of the crowd takes me off guard, and I have to force myself not to jerk out of Ezra’s touch and presence. He squeezes my hand and my attention returns to him, the crowd once again returning to a footnote.

“Oh my goodness, that was amazing!” Ezra laughs, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

I really, really, can’t help but to notice and think about other chest heaving activities in relation to Ezra. I’m certain my cheeks are pink, and I start to wonder if he’s read my mind when he smirks, eyes sparkling.  
  
“You’re quite the dancer, Sepporah, I’m impressed.”

“I learned young,” I reply. 

With him at my side, it’s easy to let the painful memories associated with that confession slip away into the night, my happiness remaining untainted. When the first boom of the fireworks show starts, and Ezra tries to drag me off to watch, I’m grinning. 

Which makes it all the more awful when my bum leg chooses that moment to stick, sending me lurching painfully to the side, and nearly to the ground. 

“Sepporah! Are you okay?” Ezra grabs my arm to steady me, instantly worried, and I instantly want to rip my leg off and violently condemn it to a thousand grisly deaths by way of my, very capable, hands. 

“Ha!” I huff, desperately trying to hold on to my composure. “Yeah, just, let me breathe a minute.” 

He does, although he also doesn’t look away, and I’m left feeling both judged and accepted. Like he’s seeing my fractures and deciding he’s going to stick around anyway. I’m not really sure how I feel about it, the pain is too distracting. 

I lean on Ezra, and move my leg. It doesn’t stick. Fucking piece of garbage. I swing my calf back and forth a few times to be sure it’s done being an asshole. 

Putting my leg back down, I pull out of Ezra’s grip, standing on my own two feet again. I let out a long breath, and manage a smile for him. 

“All better.” 

He gives me a dubious look, but I go on, “I’m just gonna have a smoke. You can go find a better spot to see the fireworks if you want, I don’t mind.”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed. He looks like he wants to say something, probably about my leg, and I glance away, busying myself with my smokes. 

“I think beside you is a good spot.”

My gaze flies to his, shocked, blunt lit, but utterly forgotten in my hand. 

Then I feel the flush creeping up my neck. I smile, feeling strangely shy. 

I take a drag of my blunt, and blow the smoke away. 

We watch the fireworks in comfortable silence for awhile, but I get distracted as I watch as the fireworks shade his skin in fantastic colors, but it’s his smile that makes him shine brighter, and far more beautiful than any firework could ever hope to be. 

“Thank you,” I blurt out. 

He turns to me, eyes wide, “Whatever for?”

For being the most amazing person I’ve ever met? For assuming a giant oaf like me can dance? For not caring that I look like a piece of rawhide a lycan took a liking to? I mean, the list goes on. 

“For spending your time with me. I…” 

His hand slides down my arm, as he leans toward me, fingertips feather light against my skin and I nearly swallow my tongue. 

This can’t really be happening, right? I mean, I thought I could steal a kiss, but to be given one? Yeah, that’s not… what I expected. 

“I had a wonderful time with you,” he says softly, gaze focused on my lips. 

I lick them nervously and he copies the gesture, looking up into my eyes. 

Distantly, I register the fireworks ending, the crowd cheering, as I listen to that fearless girl from my past, and lean down. 

Ezra smiles, washing away every doubt and insecurity I still harbored, in a flood of happiness. 

I smile too, a breath away from rapture, as I place scarred and calloused fingers I try to make gentle along his jaw. 

Then- an awful, blood curdling scream, shatters the moment, and the fragile peace Lunaris had only just made. 


	9. Chapter 9

The hunt is on, the bitingly cold, night air just another incitement as it stings against my skin. 

I dash through the ominous woodland that circles Lunaris, surrounded on all sides by Hunters and Enforcers, my people, moving as one, hunting down whatever dared to bring harm to what is ours. It’s an experience that can’t be matched, hunting as a pack. Something that’s probably good we don’t do often, because it amplifies everything we are. And we’re fucking dangerous enough on our own. 

Meriman is at my side, the two of us falling into step like it’s the natural thing to do, regardless of the reality of us never having hunted together. I wouldn’t trade her for anyone else, that’s for sure. 

She skids to a stop, hands hovering above her holstered daggers, as she focuses on something caught in her awareness.

“Did you hear that?”

I certainly did. Amongst the whispering echoes of the trees, is a pained groaning, from something unquestionably inhuman. 

“Yep.” 

I’m already moving so I’m within her peripheral vision, my hand on the hilt of my long sword. Her fingers twitch, but she’s utterly focused, the patient hunter, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Meanwhile, I’m her backup, keeping my senses cast out wide like a fishing net, ready to catch any surprises well before they’re within biting distance. 

“It’s young, inexperienced. Beneath our skill level, beneath _us_ ,” she informs me. 

“Well, yeah. Most things are.” 

The two of us mainly fight packs, clans, covens, or creatures with names these days. The two of us together are practically matchless. Out in the backwoods, it doesn’t really matter. There’s always another fight just around the next grove of trees. In a town like Lunaris, it means there’s a Hunter who’s half a step away from kicking the entire town’s ass at any given moment out of sheer boredom and frustration. And her name is Piper.

The two Hunter Sergeants that had been ordered to tail us, finally catch up, all wide-eyed and rosy cheeked. They’re trying to hide it, but they’re practically fluttering with nerves, looking like baby birds trying to fluff themselves up in a pointless but admirable attempt to look fearless. I absolutely should send them off to get their nerves kicked right out of them by a charging set of teeth, but there’s Piper too. 

I decide there will always be more younglings for baby Hunters to sharpen their claws on, and Piper’s had a rough time of it lately, so I send them on ahead, frowning at their relief. 

“What are they teaching initiates these days?” I mutter to Piper as I draw my long sword.   
  
“Not much, apparently,” she grumbles.

We both turn our attention back to the matter at hand, the young Hunters forgotten the second they hit the boundary of our senses. I can hear the steady, assured, thrum of Piper’s heart beat, the quiet rustle of wind pushing its way through the forest, leaves, grass, and branches, rustling in its wake. 

Then I feel it. 

A vampire. A youngling, skittish and frantic, just woken and in hunger’s all encompassing thrall. Someone left her to navigate her rebirth on her own, a cruel act, fating her to an existence that is only a mindless feeding frenzy while her subconscious looks on in horror until what’s left of her humanity breaks completely. It’s when the fear stops that lone vampires become significantly more dangerous. 

We don’t wait around for that to happen. 

She shambles into sight, quick movements punctuated by lurches that barely keep her upright, a staggering shadow that would have most people pissing themselves over how terrifyingly unnatural it is. Weapons at the ready, Piper and I don’t move, our aura’s melded together into one sense of pure focus and determination. 

Vivid, red eyes with blackened sclera focus on our location, flickering wildly back and forth between us. Darkened veins cover her pale skin, like sinister, creeping vines, peeking through torn, blood and mud caked, clothes. 

She snarls, revealing her fangs, just before lunging forward, and into range. 

I don’t think. I don’t need to, I’ve done this a thousand times, I just wait for the right moment, side step, and swing, and with an almost amusing thunk, her head drops from her neck, onto the forest floor. 

I’m hit with a wave of elation at such a great, clean, kill, when I remember what the entire point of this exercise was. 

“Shit! Sorry,” I say, grimacing as I take in Piper’s almost lethal, accusing, glare. We watch in silence as the youngling withers into a mass of blood and viscera.

“Eh, it’s what I expected, honestly,” Piper sighs as sheathes her daggers. When she refocuses on me though she grins, “That’s totally what I would do if I hauled a big ass sword around. Just, wham, bam, thank you ma’am!”

I burst out laughing, “Well, that’s another way to use that particular euphemism.”

“What can I say, I’m a funny gal,” she sighs again, looking around the clearing ruefully, “Too bad there isn’t another skulking around in the bushes. But,” she nods in the direction everyone else went, “We should go before August throws a bitch fit over us making them wait.”

I chuckle, still feeling bad, “I’ll buy you a drink to make it up to you. Something strong.” 

“You better,” Piper grins, as we race alongside each other until we reach the scene. 

***

Dozens of Hunters and Enforcers are already buzzing around the scene, most of them dressed up in their festival best, much like Piper and I. We spot a retrieval team emerging from the tree line, faces pale and drawn, and the mood in the entire clearing plummets as what we feared is confirmed. 

Another Hunter is dead.   
  
General Willenheim follows after the empty handed retrieval team, the bruises under their eyes visible even with only moonlight to reveal them. 

“You’re here,” they state simply as they come to stop beside us. They look us over, obviously checking for injuries, “I see the trouble you spotted didn’t cause you any trouble.”

“No, sir,” Piper replies, her mood too despondent for any attempts at levity. Or belligerence.

Willenheim sighs, “I’m sure you can tell it isn’t good news.”

“Do we have an identity?” I ask, hopeful that I can make progress at this scene as I had the last.

They shake their head, brushing their hands down the front of the extravagant, fur coat, that I’m sure they’re less than happy about wearing in such a situation. 

“We cannot identify the…” Their voice catches, and I hold back a wince. “There _is_ no body. Same as before. You’ve read the reports, I’m sure I don’t need to repeat the monstrous details.”

I bite my tongue and look away to keep from snapping that I haven’t been allowed to even _touch_ the fucking files of what is presumably my investigation. Now isn’t the time. 

Piper scoffs, shoulders tensing as she shifts restlessly, eyes bright with furious tears. I can _feel_ her hurt and anger, her aura a thing of pain that makes my heart ache along with hers. I grab her elbow, clasping it firmly. Not to hurt or even hold, just to make her look. Which she does, looking up at me, brow furrowed in confusion. I don’t try to convey any meaning to it, trusting her to think it through. 

I can tell when she does, the tension bleeding out of her as she takes a deep breath and lets it go. I let go of her elbow, and we shift closer together, able to give each other comfort now that she knows I have her back, no matter what kind of fight we’re in. 

The General looks between us curiously, then a smile actually twitches at the corner of their lips. 

“You Hunters and your silent language all your own,” they actually sound a little wistful. 

They shake their head, returning to the business at hand and barking out their orders like any good General, the clearing emptying post-haste as everyone hurries to obey. 

“I’d like to examine the crime-scene as soon as possible, General,” I say hurriedly, “I might be able to-”

“Absolutely not,” Willenheim snaps. “If that thing comes back, I want us to be properly prepared, not scurrying about in our festival clothes.”

I open my mouth to argue, my fury spiking at once again being stonewalled, when Piper squeezes my arm and keeps squeezing until I finally close my mouth with an audible snap. I glare at her, but without any heat to it, before reluctantly returning my attention back to Willenheim.

Their perfectly sculpted eyebrow is arched, rather looking like it would have its hands on its hips if it had the ability to do so. Not that it _needs_ the ability. I don’t quite wither in the face of its obvious annoyance, but that’s only because I have more pride than sense when it comes to authority figures, no matter how expressive and well-shaped their eyebrows may be. 

“If you’re quite finished,” they pause for effect, and Piper’s fingers dig into my arm like they’ve become pincers as she feels my urge to start shit.   
  
“If you _dare_ make me be the level-headed mediator, I will kick your fucking ass,” she mutters under her breath. 

I keep my mouth shut. The General continues. We listen, and Piper heads off to help patrol.

“See you later Pipes, thanks for the save,” I call out as she begins to blend in with the shadows. 

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” she pauses a moment to glare at me, “That’s a terrible nickname.”

“Terrible nicknames are how I express my affection.”

“Well keep it.”

I snort, and don’t bother responding, since our auras are still in sync, telling me everything I need to know. She likes it. Well, not the nickname. But, our growing friendship. 

Turning back to Willenheim, I’m about to take my own leave, when I notice their hands are shaking as they massage their temples, inhaling sharply, and swaying where they stand. I move toward them, intent on making sure they don’t face plant, when they raise their hand for me to stop.

“I’m fine, really,” they insist.

“General…” I frown, pointedly looking at all the things that tell me they are _not_ ‘fine.’ 

“I appreciate your concern, Hunter Lachesis, I truly do. But whatever ails me is my fault, and my fault alone. Now, please head back. I meant it when I said I want you well rested. You’ll be the first to hear of any significant changes, and I’ll send for you once the victim has been identified.” 

That was far kinder of a response than I expected and it makes me worry more, but I know when to demur. Sometimes. 

The General takes their leave, although they pause for a warning glare when I dally by the crime-scene. Apparently they trust me to obey, or they’re too exhausted to give a damn if I decide I want to face a court martial and wind up in the dungeon, because they don’t wait for me. 

I’m not planning on disobeying orders, I just want to take one last look, setting the scene in my head, the bloody patch of grass illuminated by mage lights. 

I sigh as I turn around, trudging through the icy woodlands, toward a nice warm bed. Not that I really mind the cold, it’s bracing, and I find myself enjoying the walk, even if the woods are eerie, with their creepy, blinking, magic eyeballs. A strange sense of calm washes over me, then- a whisper. 

‘Harry…’

I stop dead in my tracks, my hand hovering over the hilt of my weapon even though I know there isn’t anything for me to strike at. 

I see nothing, _feel_ nothing, no matter how hard I concentrate. The ache in my temple that’s becoming familiar begins to build.

“James?” I say.

‘You deserve to know.’

“You’re damn right I do,” I snap pressing my fingers to my temple as that strange pulsing feeling begins. 

My frustration rises like the tide at this fucking game everyone is playing, keeping secrets, keeping me confused and ignorant, even the damn ghost who barged into my head uninvited, being entirely unhelpful.

‘I’m sor-’ the voice cuts off, as a sharp, burning pain shoots up my spine. 

I can feel myself falling and I let it happen, crashing to the icy underbrush, feeling the cold immediately start seeping through my clothes. 

The forest is silent again, except for the sound of my own breathing. 

Fucking ghosts. 

I lurch to my feet, knowing what I have to do, even though I’d rather have a goblin give me a dental exam. 

I have to talk to the Lieutenant General and find out what he isn’t telling me. 


	10. Chapter 10

It seems like an age later till I exit Headquarters, James' smile in the picture Harry showed me feeling more haunting than his presence stuck in my head. Harry had been surprised how much I’d figured out on my own, impressed. I didn’t and don’t feel any pleasure from it, I can’t when I know there’s something big I’m still missing. 

That Harry had admitted his judgment has been impaired served to ease some of the worry that’s been eating at me, as I wondered if we were all blindly following him off the edge of a cliff. But if he has the good judgment to realize he’s made mistakes, we might still be okay. Maybe. Doubtfully. 

I don’t normally fall prey to despondency, much less allow the darkness of the future cause me to worry, so I’m glad when I feel the aura of a certain dead man, who tends to be a good distraction, if nothing else. 

“Well, if it isn’t Lunaris’s favorite sassy antique,” I greet him, smirking as he raises his eyebrows.

“Sassy antique? That’s a new one,” he smirks, looking strangely pleased.

“Don’t worry, there’s tons more where that came from,” I tell him, smirking. “I’m letting you know so you can suffer in anticipation.”

“You want me to suffer?” he pouts. 

His expression smooths out into a placid mask as a pair of Enforcers pass us by, making a point to glare at us. I glare right back, and I’m a hundred times scarier, so they shy away, hurrying on. 

I snort, “The Agency is churning out some real gems these days.”

“Yes, things have gone rather downhill since-” Finn holds my gaze, obviously trying to decipher how clued in I am.

“James Lane, Harry’s husband was murdered?” I don’t really ask. 

Finn huffs out a nervous breath, glancing around. 

I roll my eyes, as I continue on, needing to be in motion. 

“Everyone in this town is too damn paranoid. And that’s coming from me, the most paranoid person I know,” I say as he falls in step beside me. 

“Did Harry tell you?” he asks, casting his eyes away from me, brow furrowed.

“I figured out James was his Hunter, when I was trying to understand why a talented leader like Harry was making such poor decisions. But I did just speak with him- told him about James speaking to me.”

“How did that go?”

I shake my head, “I’m not sure. He didn’t freak out, but it’s obvious he’s grieving, and needs to be taken off this case, but-” I hesitate, looking over at Finn as I wonder how open he is to the idea that this is going to be much, much, bigger than catching a murderer. He raises an eyebrow, waiting. 

I huff, looking away, “Guess it’s silly to worry an immortal might prefer a shallow view.”

“You’d be surprised,” Finn smiles sadly, “However, I do not refuse to peer into the dark just because I don’t want to see what lurks in shadows. So go ahead and tell me what that tricky little gut of yours tells you about all of this, about us.”

“Those are two very different things,” I state, crossing my arms over my chest. “When it comes to ‘all of this’ all I can tell you is to be prepared for things to change, likely in very unpleasant ways, before they get better- if they get better.” I stare him in the eyes, “Whatever is hiding here, its going to be devastating in some way or another.” 

He nods reluctantly, “I figured as much.” He sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “And the second thing?”

I smirk, “You sure seem intent of finding out what I think about you.”

“Not just me,” he insists, smiling.

I shake my head, smiling ruefully, “I still don’t know if I hate this place or like it. I’m surprised all the damn time. Mostly at myself. Since coming here to Lunaris it’s like all my training can’t stand up under all the bullshit and crazy, and yet…” I hesitate again, reluctant to admit it. “I feel like I should be freaking out and trying all the harder to shore up my defenses, but I… don’t want to.” My voice goes soft at the end. 

It scares me, how at home I feel here. I feel safe, when I most assuredly shouldn’t, and even as I worry it’s going to get me killed… I don’t want to give it up.

I’m suddenly afraid. More afraid then I’ve been in a long, long, time. Maybe ever. 

“Sepporah?” Finn says my name softly, moving slowly as he reaches for me, taking my arm and leading out of the street to opening of an alleyway. “Are you okay? Please say something.” 

I suck in a shuddering breath, and look him dead in the eye.

“I’m not going to die here,” I tell him, my voice fierce even though it wavers. 

His eyebrows shoot up toward his hair line, “Of course not-”

“I’ll lay down my life without a moments hesitation to save someone else, or to do my job, but I will not die because I was dreaming when I should have been facing fucking reality.”

“And what reality is that?” he asks softly.

“That happiness, and home, and belonging, are not things meant for Hunters. That when we reach for them, people die.” 

Harry’s desperate, grief stricken, expression flashes before my eyes again, followed by the blood stained grass I saw in the forest, and it feels like a tearing heart string in my chest. 

“If I learn anything from Lunaris, it will be that.”   
  
I turn to leave, but Finn’s voice draws me up short.

“I used to believe the same thing about vampires.”   
  
I hang my head, telling myself not to give in, to keep going and not look back. 

“What made you change your mind?” I force past the fear clogging my throat, I have to know, I have to hear it, so I can judge it, look at it and say it isn’t enough, it isn’t for me. Or perhaps…

“A certain witch, named Ezra,” he says, breathlessly, as though he still can’t believe it. 

I choke on a pained laugh. 

Finn chuckles too, moving forward and grasping my arm again. When I don’t pull away he draws me back against the building, till I’m standing beside him. We lean against the bricks, and he turns his head to look at me.   
  
“You got a smoke?”

“Do lycans howl at the moon?” I say, as I draw my cigarette case out of my coat pocket.

“Well, it’s not actually ‘at’ the moo-”

“Shut up,” I growl without any heat and he chuckles. 

I pull out my lighter, noticing when he leans in sooner and closer than strictly necessary, and if I didn’t know better I’d say he was anticipating being in the same arrangement as last time, when he heard my attraction to him echoing between us. Like maybe he was thinking about it and encouraging its repeat. I don’t move away after I light his smoke, and he lets it burn without taking a toke. 

“You’re weird, Kazimir,” I say, looking him in the eyes. “Most people don’t want an up close look at this face. Or any look at this face.”

He tilts his head, exposing his neck absolutely purposefully, as he exhales the smoke away. “That’s because they’re stupid,” he grins, his fangs catching my eye.

I arch my brow, “Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s because they want to keep their dinner down.”

Finn’s brow furrows as he gives me a frustrated look. 

“I want to kiss you,” he finally states, taking another drag. 

“No you don’t,” I say instinctively, pulling away frowning. 

“You think I’m lying?”

“That, or you’re insane.”

“Ezra wants to kiss you. I’m guessing he didn’t get a chance at the festival, or you might be willing to entertain the idea that people find you attractive.”

“Yeahhh…” I give him an incredulous look, because he’s nuts, and also because I’m not sure how to talk about wanting to kiss another man with… this is fucking crazy. 

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but just chill it with your frisky icicle routine.”

Finn pouts. “I will, but did you really have to call it that?”

I grin, all teeth, “Yep.”

I busy myself with finally lighting up, and sucking in a deep breath. 

“Are you going to tell me how Ezra, I don’t know, made you believe,” I make a vague gesture with my hand. I don’t know how to put it.

“In my own inherent worth and that belonging is worth breaking down the walls of fear that keep us from apart from each other?”

“… Sure.”

“Well, he came upon a vampire dying in the forest and chose to save him. That was the first thing. Then he didn’t ask for anything in return. He just kept giving, kept reaching out, even though I couldn’t give him anything approaching the level of courage and vulnerability he showed me, for a long time.” 

He tucks his chin down, taking a deep breath, and I shift closer so our arms are touching. I see the corner of his mouth curl, and he presses back.

“I’ve lost loved ones. And I’ve taken other people’s loved ones away from them. It was that… shame, that kept me alone so for long. I thought of those I lost, of having to face them, telling them that not only did I live while they died, but I became just like the monster that took them away from me and…” He takes another deep, unnecessary breath that still seems to steady him. “I was too much of a coward to change, or to just… wait for sunrise.” 

He takes a smoke, holds it in his lungs for a moment with his eyes closed, before releasing it. 

“Ezra told me about how he turned his pain into something that can help people. He told me I had been given a gift, and it wasn’t wasted, not as long I still kept going. He made me believe change is possible. And now I’m the sort of man who believes that even if redemption isn’t possible, it’s still worth striving for.”   
  
We sit and smoke in silence for awhile.

“So, redemption. That’s what you’re after?”

He shakes his head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks in another breath, “Not really. There’s no finish line for me. It’s the concept; working to balance your scales, even if you know it never will, even if there’s no one to judge you anyway, I like that.” 

I nod, and consider his words. “So what you’re saying, is that I need an Ezra.” I say lightly.

“Maybe,” he chuckles, “Some people are strong enough to change even without an Ezra. Although, I do have to say, there is only one Ezra and he’s the best Ezra.”

I laugh and agree. 

“He also happens to live right down the street and he’d be delighted to see you.” He smirks, “Just… putting that out there.”

“Yeah, ‘come fix me,’ the sexy line every man wants to hear.”

“Hm, yes, that might only be Ezra.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “I don’t have anything to offer him, or anyone else for that matter. Not unless they want something found or killed.”

“Didn’t I already tell you we don’t want anything from you? We just want to keep you safe.”

I look at him, unflinching, “Then you’re going to get hurt. Hunters don’t do safe.”

“It would be worth it.”

That makes me flinch.   
  
“Why does being told you have worth hurt you?”

“Because it doesn’t matter!” I snarl, shoving him against the wall, “What good does it do me to believe that I deserve better? I’m still leashed and collared, with a future of nothing but violence and loneliness, till the peace of death, finally, _finally_ , sets me free.” 

I’m in his face, my fist twisting his shirt, but abruptly, all my anger melts, and I drop my head to his shoulder, like he’s someone I know, like I’ve known him for ages.

“I’m tired. I’m tired of hurting.” I mean that in more ways than one and it’s a strange feeling to know that Finn knows that.

Slowly, giving me time to protest or move away, his lifts his arms and slips them around me. I stiffen at first, but I’m so, so, exhausted that I can’t maintain my discomfort when it’s so, so, comforting. I sigh, going boneless in his arms, and he holds me tighter. 

“I would fight to keep you. We all would. To keep you here, keep you safe.” 

“I’m condemning this entire town and turning it into an insane asylum.” I state without heat, and he laughs, his chest rumbling pleasantly against mine.  
  
“Probably wouldn’t change much if you did.”

He holds me and doesn’t seem in any hurry to let me go. Tentatively I slip my arms around him as well. He hums and sways us back and forth. I start shaking and can’t stop, and he runs his hand up and down my back. 

“What is it?” he whispers. 

“It’s just my body knowing this is dangerous and my mind ignoring it.”

“Because I’m a vampire?” he asks carefully.

“No. Because-” But I can’t bring myself to put it into words, I don’t know if I can. So I give him something else. “It’s been a long time.”  
  
“Yes, I know how that is.” 

He continues to run his hand up and down my back. 

Eventually I pull away, and it takes me a moment to be able to look him in the eye. He just smiles when I manage it. 

“What do you need?”

I sigh, shaking my head, but I don’t argue with him. 

“Sleep sounds good.”

“Will you be alright alone?”

I nod, then yawn widely. I’m too tired to joke or be irritable about coddling. He walks me to the Wolf.

“Be safe out there tonight, vampire. We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet, so don’t go rushing in trying to balance your scales,” I warn him as I open the door to the inn.

Finn bites his bottom lip looking exceedingly pleased, and I pause, narrowing my eye at him.  
  
“I’m just glad you care so much about little old me,” he teases. 

I roll my eye as he continues, “Don’t worry, Sepporah. I survived this long because I tend to suffer from an abundance of caution.”

I’m slightly jolted back to awareness by that _wrong_ statement and I just stare at him for a second.  
  
“Since when?” I say incredulous, “Did you hit your head and forget how you introduced yourself to me?”

“I suppose there are a few people who inspire me to be the fool who rushes in,” he replies, shrugging, smiling sheepishly. “I’ll be good, I promise,” he looks up at me from beneath his eyelashes, with a sly expression.   
  
I arch my eyebrow, “See that you do,” I reply, channeling August as best I can before turning on my heel, as I hear him chuckling behind me.

“Sweet dreams, Hunter,” he calls. 

I lift a hand and wave casually as I let the door shut behind me. 

I heed the siren’s call of sleep and quietly walk up the stairs, falling into bed and into sleep without even taking off my weapons. 

***

To say Finn was pleased, would be an understatement so severe as to be almost criminal. It feels… No, it is healing him, to help Sepporah. Healing him in ways he hadn’t realized he needed to be healed. 

Which is absolutely _not_ why he’s doing it, and it wouldn’t be healing him if it was. He wouldn’t be the sort of man who would recognize, allow, or value, something like that. But being the sort of man who not only can help her, but also who she’d want help from? A strong, capable, woman like herself wouldn’t accept help from just anyone, after all. 

It’s validation that his efforts to become a good man have started to pay off, and in a different sort of way than Ezra gives him. 

Ezra gives like he breathes, which can make it difficult to judge whether or not he’s actually making progress, or if Ezra just loves him in spite of if all. And Finn values that unconditional acceptance and the man who offers it to him, more than he values his own existence. Recognizing the value and healing found in other places will never diminish that in his heart or his mind. 

Sepporah has been giving him healing _because_ , she’s a harsh judge, and yet she judges him worthy. 

Apparently it’s made him happy enough for others to notice, Raven of course ribbing him about daydreaming and ‘having a crush.’ Even Fiero mentioned it, which would have made him blush if he was capable of such a thing. Fiero noticing something is a given, Fiero feeling the need to bring it up, is another thing entirely, and really put in perspective just how much she’s been affecting him in such a short amount of time. 

Sepporah masquerades as a simple Hunter, competent, efficient, no-nonsense, a bit coarse, and of course, violent. But she’s so much more. She’s insightful, cunning, and despite all of the pain she’s dealt and been dealt, and how afraid she is of more of it, she’s capable of astonishing kindness and vulnerability. 

Despite the terrible end of the festival and all the fear blanketing Lunaris, Finn feels like he wants to skip down the streets. 

Because he was good enough. He was good enough for a woman like her to trust. 


	11. Chapter 11

I wake to regret. 

I went to sleep filthy and now there’s more laundry that needs done. Although any launderer who works in Lunaris is probably used to cleaning Hunter uniforms and other various monster guts stained crap. Thankfully it’s only the blanket since I didn’t actually get in the bed and I rip it off the bed and toss it in the pile I have going in the corner of the room, then clean up myself as best I can with the pitcher and bowl left in the room for that purpose and head down to ask for a bath to be drawn. 

Unfortunately, there’s a rather rougher than usual looking lycan, waiting for me when I come downstairs. 

I frown as I watch him stumble from a darkened corner, nearly overturning his chair. He’s moving so stiffly, hunching over, that I almost start toward him, thinking he’s injured, before my brain kicks in telling me he wouldn’t be waiting around for me if he was. But no, he’s just… wary, which seems normal enough, but the exhaustion is new, and he has a new layer of dirt and muck on him as well. 

I hold back a sigh, mentally preparing myself for more crap to add to shit mountain. 

“Hunter, I need to speak with you.”

Formality, from the guy who’s already used ‘fuck you’ as a friendly rejoinder. Ugh. This is going to be a big ol’ shovel of manure, isn’t it? But it’s the tremor in his voice that really has me dropping all my internal complaining about having to postpone my bath. 

“Of course. You have a place in mind?” It doesn’t seem like something he’ll want to air out in the middle of the tavern, but then again he might be too tired for anything else.

He shakes his head, holding out his hand. My heart rate spikes before he even opens his hand, anticipating my first real clue into this mess. 

Indeed, he uncurls his fingers, revealing a crumpled piece of purple fabric I recognize instantly. I snatch it up, because I don’t trust anyone in this damn town not to dangle a clue right in front of me only to take it back before I get a chance to actually examine it. Although Edna would have an unconscious lycan on her hands if the wolf tried that on me. I’m done as fuck playing around. 

The fabric is ragged, torn, and blood stained. It looks like it’s been laying out in the elements far longer than just last night. My eye snaps to Alkar. 

“Where did you find this?”

“It doesn’t belong to the Hunter that was killed last night. It doesn’t belong to any of them. It’s… not right. The smell.”

Well, I’ve heard that before. The blood as Finn found in the graveyard. But this is a Hunter’s sash, if it doesn’t belong to any of the victims… 

The thought of a Hunter being responsible is not one I really want to entertain. But I do, because that’s my fucking job and I already know there’s some nasty, deep, dark, secrets in this town. Whatever is going on its probably been festering for awhile now if all the distrust is any indication. 

“Thanks for bringing this to me, Alkar,” I tell him, solemnly. “If you gave it to anyone else, I probably never would’ve had the chance to take a look at it.”

A confession. Let’s see what he does with it.

His red eyes grow wide and he just stares, mouth slightly open for a minute, before he looks away looking even more frightened. 

“You see it?”

“Yeah. I saw it the second I saw the brand on your chest and yet my own warning bells didn’t go off. The Hunter gut is a powerful tool, but I’m smart enough to know silence is a warning too. A warning they weren’t even afraid to put their name on.”

He’d covered the brand with his hand the second I mentioned it, before scowling and shifting his shirt so it was mostly hidden and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“A shitty souvenir, huh?”

“Yeah. You know the names of the who gave it to you?” I ask, wondering if he’ll tell me, wondering if he’d tell me no if I wanted to be mean right back.

His gaze flies back to mine, “Why? You gonna avenge my honor?” he scoffs.

“Something like that. I don’t like bullies. And no matter who they are, I’m bigger and meaner.”

He rolls his eyes, shifting and looking uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know. Piper would though.”

I guess that makes sense. I should have thought to ask her about it before. I nod. 

“I’ll ask her soon as I get a chance.” 

I hold up the scrap of fabric, “Now, who could tell me exactly who’s this is? Finn’s nose doesn’t work quite well enough to give me names, and I don’t know who has the expertise for something like that. It’s a pretty specialized spell.”

“Ezra,” he tells me immediately. 

Huh. I wonder if he’s worked with the Enforcers before? It’s not exactly a ‘Healer’ sort of spell. 

“Alright,” I’m about to head out when I have a thought and pause. “Once I get this sorted, I’ll track down who did that,” I point at the brand still peeking out from behind his shirt, “and we’ll all have a chat. You want to come along?”

“You’re serious,” he states, both sounding and looking like he doesn’t know how to feel about that fact.

“Uh, yeah? I don’t do empty promises. And it needs done. It’s wrong, and wrong needs to be taught a lesson so it thinks twice about adding to the shit in the world.”

“Isn’t that just adding more shit?”

“Oh, silly me, yeah, let’s just forget about trying to enact justice. We’ll just hug all the criminals and give them sweeties so they’ll be inspired to change their wicked ways.” I roll my eye.

He scoffs, lips twitching as he tries to hold back a grin. “Sure, Hunter, tell me when you find them. But I might tell you to forget it.” He runs his hand over his hair, “I need to think about it.”

“Well, I’m doing something no matter what, Alkar. Whether or not it makes the paperwork is the only part that’s up to you.”

“You’re kinda scary.”

“You’re only getting this now? You’re cute, but slow, wolf boy.”

“Wha-?!”

But I’m already heading out the door. 

“Go take a nap, you look like shit,” I hold the door open a second to call in.

***

I’m greeted only by the welcoming tinkle of the door bell when I enter Ezra’s shop. 

Which is a bit of a disappointment, but the white cat curled up on the floor at the end of the counter is almost as cute. I move to let it sniff at me, but my eye narrows as I approach and I feel a familiar magical aura from the creature. The same as Ezra’s. _Weird_. 

I pull my hand back. If I accidentally step into another mystery right now I might lose my damn mind. Or my temper, depending how shitty it is. Both would be bad. 

Thankfully, the man I really want to see emerges from the back, a cup of steaming tea in hand. 

I smile, a real, true, blue, smile that I couldn’t have stopped if I’d had a dagger at my throat. Okay, that probably isn’t true, but I couldn’t stop it with just a thought, which usually is all I need. 

Ezra smiles back, eyes wide and shining, and I swear he’s blushing, although it’s difficult to really tell with his beautiful dark skin. 

It’s… really nice to know I’m not the only one immediately thinking about the good part of last night. Almost the best night of my entire life, but no biggie… No- it is a biggie! Murder, shmurder, who gives a shit, that damn stiff made me get stiffed on a kiss with an angel. Asshole! 

Ezra’s brow furrows, suddenly looking worried. “I’m so relieved to see you!”

The cat perks up at the sound of his voice, stretching with a lazy yawn before sauntering over to parade about his legs. Lucky furball. 

He ignores her, setting his tea on the counter. He bites his bottom lip, lashes dipped, looking at least a little coy and all my senses spike in their awareness, like when I’m on a hunt and I spot a sign that tells me I’m going in the right direction. 

“I… was concerned after we parted at the festival. The scream. I worried for you.” 

Hm, okay, I’d been hoping for something a bit more explicit, like ‘I had the urge to double murder the cadaver for interrupting our kiss,’ but I can work with this. Especially since there isn’t a cadaver anyway. 

“Don’t worry, I would have made my way back to you if I’d gotten banged up. As it was, I was unfortunately not wounded and in dire need of a healer,” he huffs and shakes his head, smiling, and I pause to smile back, “so it seemed best to head back to the inn so we could both rest. … Not that we wouldn’t have gotten rest otherwise! I mean-” 

_Fuck me_. Wait- 

I can feel my face heating up but when I glance at Ezra he’s covering his grin with his hand, straight up giggling, cheeks definitely blushing now. 

I scoff lightly, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I smirk down at him, leaning closer, intending to be daring and go ahead and run with this, when I remember the sash in my pocket. 

I step back, grimacing apologetically, “I actually came for another reason than just to embarrass myself and set your mind at ease.”

His lips purse and twist into a small smile, “Well, you don’t need to be embarrassed. At all.” His smile is sly, but then he straightens up. “But, what is on your mind?”

I internally sigh in disappointment, fucking duty calls and all that. 

I pull the crumpled fabric out of my coat pocket, holding it up and letting it unfurl from my hand. 

I didn’t expect the reactions I received from both him and the cat, the latter arching its back, hissing and streaking away into the back without a moments hesitation. Ezra’s reaction is only slightly less frightened. 

I wince. I should have prepared him, I’m used to blood and guts. I’ve found them on clothes, walls in people’s homes, on toys in the woods. None of this shit does anything to me anymore. Healer or not, not everyone is okay with surprise blood stains. Particularly on recognizable items.

But when Ezra rushes past me to lock the door, my worry changes. He knows something. About the Agency. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m a Hunter with evidence, asking questions. That’s normal, no reason to lock the door. Even if I’m handling evidence in an unconventional way, I’m far from doing anything illegal. Addington’s been encouraging me to be unconventional since I started. Which is highly worrying in itself actually. Once the boss tells you to sidestep the rules, you know some real shit is about to pop up and bite you on the ass.

Ezra returns to my side after locking the door in every which way a door can be locked. 

“Where exactly did you get that?” 

His voice is quiet even though we’re the only people in the room, the words leaving him a breathy rush. His aura is practically trembling with panic itself.

Okay, first I’ve got to calm him down. We aren’t going to get anywhere otherwise. 

“Ezra,” I say, voice firm, confident, “I’m here to help you. Whatever it is that has you this scared? I’m here to end it. Even if it’s wearing a sash, just like this one.” I pluck at the whole, unbloodied sash, I wear over my shoulder.

He stares at me a second, still grimacing in fear. Then he shifts, letting out a deep breath and running a shaking hand over his hair. 

“This puts us all in danger.”

“I’d say we’re already all in danger. This,” I gesture with the bloodied sash, “is our opportunity to get out.” 

He stares at it for a moment, looking conflicted. Then he looks up at me, giving me a small shaking smile. 

“I guess it’s my turn to be brave.”

The tension in my muscles I’d been holding onto melts and I smile, “I’ll be by your side the whole time.”

Tentatively, he reaches for my empty hand, and I take his hand in mine without hesitation, giving it a squeeze. He releases another sigh, shoulders sagging, eyes closed. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“You’re welcome,” I reply simply, rejecting the urge to joke for once. 

Then he straightens up, pulling away to sit on his chair behind the counter.

“Okay.” He raises his hand, “I’m ready.”

I place the scrap of fabric in his hand, a bright, emerald light, emanates from his fingertips. The fabric hovers in mid-air, suspended by vibrant whorls of magic, Ezra’s hands moving fluidly, like water, as he commands it. 

I shift when his eyes light up, always a little uncomfortable when people’s eyes change. In creatures it tends to mean they aren’t in control, their instincts are. Still, I’m not afraid, I’ve seen this before, I just can’t help but worry, every single time I see it, that they won’t come back. That they’ll get stuck as a conduit of power they can’t control until they burn out. It’s happened to witches, although typically as a result of irresponsible use, or trauma, not in regular occurrences. 

I’m impatient for it to end as soon as it begins though, anxious to see Ezra looking back at me, not the glint of power. A mark, made up of indecipherable shifting shapes coalesces over the sash, the blood releasing the fabric, suspended in air along with it. 

His lips part, moving silently, a furrow between his brows, and my worry grows. A sharp inhale, and Ezra squeezes his eyes shut tight, magic dissipating and the sash falling to the wood of the counter top. He drops his head, knuckles tight as he grips the edge of the counter. 

“I had a feeling but… ”

I hang on to my impatience, both at seeing his eyes, not lit up, and a fucking answer. Not this aura doesn’t already tell me he hasn’t gone mad with power, I just… it isn’t a logical thing.

He sighs again, and finally looks at me and I release the tension, I’d been holding along my spine. 

“Aya Walker. The sash belongs to a girl named Aya Walker,” he says, pushing away from the counter, putting distance between himself and the bloody sash and eying it warily. 

“Who is Aya Walker, besides a Hunter? Did you know her?”

He hesitates, and I can’t help but make a frustrated noise. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t want any harm to come to you.”

I raise my eyebrow incredulously, ready to snap that being clueless is absolutely going to get me killed, before I let the words go in a sigh instead, hanging my head. When I look up again I’m calm, remembering that this man is being kind and has only ever been kind to me.

“Ezra, what you say here to me, will not be traced back to you, I swear it. This investigation is mine. I’m the one making choices about what to do and who to trust, and I’m trusting you. What I’m going to do after this, is protect you. That is going to be the first priority every time I open my mouth to continue on from here.”

I reach out for his hand again and he takes it eagerly, drawing close. 

“I’m more worried about you. I know that sounds foolish, but… “ He wraps his free arm around his waist almost as though he’s trying to hold himself together. “I care for you, I will not be responsible for you getting hurt.” 

Stars above, this wonderful man. I draw him closer, slowly, letting him pull away if he’d rather, but he steps into my embrace with an ease that almost makes me tremble. He buries his face against my shoulder, hands splayed against my back, fingers curling tight into the fabric of my clothes. 

Oh wow. This is- I swallow, suddenly unsure. But I try. I put my hand on his back, the other along his shoulder blades, high enough my finger tips brush against the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Is this okay?” I ask softly. I’ve never- Not like this. Not anything like this.

“Yes,” he murmurs, holding on tighter. 

Okay. Good. Part of me wants to relax into it like he has, but I just can’t bring myself to, worried I’m going to mess it up, or not realize when to let go. Or… I don’t know, but if anyone could fuck up giving a hug it would be the 3/4 feral, giant woman who’s never hugged anyone before. 

I briefly can’t help but remember small arms trying to reach around me, patting me, touching me even though I snapped and jerked away. The memories are so faded they don’t even hurt anymore. Like they belong to someone else. They do. That fearless girl, who was so afraid of anything soft, and then died before she found the courage to try it like she tried everything else. 

Ezra shifts in my arms and I let him go, making myself move slow even though I want to jerk away, worried I’ve held on too long while moping in memory. 

“I… thank you. I needed that, apparently,” he smiles, shyly, staying within my reach, my hand still on his back. 

I can still smell the vanilla scent of him, and I resist the urge to pull him back into my arms so I can try again without internally freaking out. 

“Anytime,” I say lamely, unable to think of anything clever.

“Aya was a General. A really lovely girl, relatively new in town, after being transferred. She was arrested quite suddenly, and no one outside of the Enforcers knows _why_.”

Here we go! Fucking finally! He’s not worried about me dying, he’s worried about me being arrested. And possibly dying. Can’t exactly rule that out. That makes so much more sense and I take a deep breath, feeling like I’m coming up for air after being suffocated by secrets for… however the fuck long I’ve been here. For fucking ever. 

As for what to do… Hunters don’t get arrested. Like in general. We can get away some nasty shit. But it does happen every once in awhile and it’s always a huge fucking mess, a pile of ignored crimes that finally avalanche. Those Hunters typically don’t have any friends left or they’re in the same boat, nothing like this, where everyone is left stunned and scared and clueless. 

I pick up the sash, carefully putting it back in my pocket, making sure none of it is poking out, Ezra watching like it might jump out and bite him.

“Who was her Enforcer?” I ask as I look up, already feeling a sense of dread about the answer.

I’m not surprised when Ezra once again looks reluctant, as well as sad. 

“Gus.”

I grimace anyway, and he hurries to add that it was temporary. Only until her transfer went through. 

“Her and Piper really hit it off. But she was gone before she really got to thrive.” 

He looks at me, his worry clear as day, and only intensifies as I head toward the door. I need to get out of here though, I’m too angry to be any comfort. What the fuck has August done?

“Where are you going?” He looks like he wants to reach out and stop me, but he thinks better of it.

I take a deep breath, “I’m going to take a walk and smoke, and plot my next step.” 

I reach for the locks on door and he unlocks the ward with a reluctant wave of his hand, the magic shimmer and fading. I find myself irritated by it, irritated that everyone wants to put barriers in my path and hold me back.

“Ezra, why are you so afraid?” I ask, my frustration coloring my voice even though I try to hold it back.

A deep breath, then a steady exhale, and he stands tall, “Because I’m scared to learn the truth. All I’ve ever wanted is a quiet home, somewhere I can be safe from the things that give me nightmares. I found that here. I found love, a family. And yet…”

“You don’t want it to end- even though everything ends.”

He nods, looking scared, “Everything crumbles eventually.”

We stare each other down for a lingering moment, and I nod. 

I stride away from the door, although I slow down before I touch him, gently cupping his face in my hands. 

“I’m going to do everything I can to keep your home from crumbling. And I sure as hell, am not going to let anything happen to you. Now, can I kiss you before I go figure this out?”

His breath is warm, eyes wide and so, so, green, even without magic lighting them up. 

“Do you promise it isn’t a goodbye kiss?”

“I promise.”

He goes up on tiptoe because he’s short, and adorable, and absolutely nuts for wanting to kiss me. He places warm, gentle fingers against ugly, burned skin, and harsh leather, pulling it closer. Even as I’m leaning down, I almost quail. I almost choke and leave him there. Because no matter how much I want this, it’s going to wind up hurting. But that fearless girl… maybe it isn’t too late for her. 

Our lips meet warm, soft, and somehow so, so, good. 

I hold my breath, hold myself at a distance, and pull back after moment, because I’m freaking out over how much I want to leave and act like this never happened, and how much I want to pull him into my arms and kiss him for the rest of the day. For the rest of the day, every day, forever. And it was barely a kiss. 

I almost say thank you before, thank _fuck_ , realizing that would be weird and awkward. More weird and awkward.

“I need to go now,” I say, way too formally, all stiff and _weird_. 

He just nods, looking a little stunned, then he shakes his head, smiling and looking painfully fond.

“Stay safe, Sepporah. Come back soon.”

The tension leaves me again, and I manage a real smile. “Yeah, I will. Have a good day, Ezra.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to some juicy scenes that I've been looking forward to sharing since I first posted this story. :) 
> 
> I've also written 20,000 more words! Currently, I'm working on the 'waking up after memory-visions with James' scene, which is a big one with a lot going on. It's a challenge, but a fun one.

I’m a liar. 

I take out a blunt and light it, ready to walk and think. I already know I’m going to have to confront August, and I know the likelihood of me getting out of it in one piece is pretty slim. But I wanted that kiss just in case it was my last chance. So… it might have been a good bye kiss. 

I’d like to think it wasn’t, for multiple reasons, the main one being, that I hope August isn’t making innocent people disappear. 

The other obviously being that I want more kisses with Ezra and I’m gonna be pissed as hell if I wind up in a shitty cell instead. Eh, hopefully August would just off me, not put me through that. 

So, I just have to figure out how to go about poking the tiger in a way that I get my answers, while negating the risk of winding up in the same bloody boat as Aya as much as possible. But honestly, the thought of fucking with August makes me way more nervous then nearly any creature on this earth or below it.   
  
Eh, maybe Finn could give them a run for their money. Both of them would be a tough fight for me. But I don’t have multiple nick names alluding to being good at killing things for no reason. 

But, of all the people on earth, August is at the top of the list of ‘people I don’t want to fuck with.’ 

Like, I don’t know why people get so bent out of shape about Harry when August exists. Not that Harry’s any slouch, but I mean, there’s really no comparison in my mind. 

Honestly, I always kinda took any stories about Addington with a grain of salt. I mean, a guy with a name like Harold Addington the Third, obviously has money and connections, they’re gonna make a nice place for themselves in the world- whether they deserve it or not. 

Then you hear outlandish stories of him besting creatures he has no business even fighting since he’s not a witch or a Hunter? Enforcers, witch or not, are good, but not that good. A non-magic Enforcer going out on the field is practically unheard of, except for Addington. 

Of course, I could have him all wrong. Maybe that sort of thinking is what got Leviathan Kazimir killed for good and proper. But I can’t help but think something doesn’t add up. 

Why do we need Hunters if regular humans can fight big wig vampires? Is Addington non-human? Aaaaand, this is why I can’t let my thoughts get away with me. 

So yeah, I lied, and I’d do it again. 

I don’t plan on winding up in a cell or dead, and I’m not particularly worried about it either, I’m pretty resourceful, but sometimes you can do everything right, and still fail. That’s just the way life works, and it’s a big part of why I’m not very concerned about doing everything right. I’m concerned with doing everything till it’s done. 

And I wouldn’t have been done unless I got to kiss Ezra first. 

But about how to approach August… I’d rather have proof in my hand before I talk to them. And proof not in my hand in case it goes bad. But, I don’t think I can afford to go mucking about asking anyone to make copies of paperwork right now. 

There should be orders somewhere though, a warrant. August would have had to sign off on it. I’m just going to have to take my chances and rifle though August’s filing cabinet of lies. If I find what I need, I can confront them, if I don’t I’ll slip out, and spend the next day complaining that the one time I went to the office to see them they weren’t there. And pester them about the identity of our last mook. 

I sigh and look around to see I’m back in front of Ezra’s shop, catching sight a demon I kind of know, and sorta weirdly… like? Don’t hate? Eh, not sure. It’s a tentative liking that sure does take a beating when Omen startles badly, actually stepping back with his hand raised like he expects me to attack on sight. 

My eye narrows, and I have to push back my Hunter instincts, that immediately want to press the advantage and attack cowering prey. 

Not necessarily an attack via weapons, but to lunge, hold, and question till answers are had. Hesitation doesn’t always mean only death for _Hunters_ out in the woods. If we lose a potential source of information, we might also lose the chance to save someone.

I remind myself that we’re not out in the woods where there’s no back up gonna have your back if you misplace your trust in the split second you have to decide what to believe and what to do about it.

We’re in a town, and there’s too much fucking back up, so much back up they’re stirring up their own shit apparently. Anyway, I have to exhale heavily and let the spike of adrenaline dissipate before I can make myself walk a little closer so we aren’t yelling at each other. 

He’s even more nervous now, probably having felt that ‘attack!’ urge I held back. Well, why is he acting like a scared rabbit anyway? He’s a fucking demon, it wouldn’t hurt to be a little less of a shrinking violet. Sheesh.

“Sorry about that,” I say, smiling a little guiltily, “I think we may have kind of freaked each other out back there.” 

He finally seems to breathe again, his body moving in a more human way, instead of remaining frozen in place, leaning away from me, like a sculptor made a statue that elaborated on the idea of Stink.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I kinda want to warn him that he should really maybe prioritize learning not to startle Hunters. 

How did he even survive in this town anyway?? Or is everyone else better at differentiating between friend and foe? Well, I guess I am operating under extenuating circumstances here. What with the murders. And corruption. And fucking secrets every time you step out on the street for a peaceful smoke. But I mean, really, the whole, ‘no hesitation’ thing is really hard to turn off, and it’s not especially smart to do so anyway. Stupid demon needs to be careful. 

“And I didn’t meant to startle you,” I grin. “Thanks again for your help the other day, Willenheim didn’t have any complaints about my festival attire.” 

I mean, they only saw it at the murder scene and it probably wasn’t really something they were concerned with anymore by that point, but the dem- Omen, doesn’t need to know that. Indeed, he finally smiles, a bit reluctantly, but he does.

“I’m glad they didn’t take your bacon.”

With a heroic effort of will, I hold back the laugh just begging to bust out of me, although I can’t hold back the smile. 

“Yes, well, it was all thanks to you.” I look him over, which makes him shift back into nervousness, “Are you okay? You seem a bit… distressed.”

“You’re… worried about me?” he asks, incredulously.

Yes. I am literally constantly worried about the demon in town. Which isn’t what he meant, I know. Still, yes, so far he’s in my ‘I don’t want dead’ friend category, and he was definitely acting like he was expecting death at his throat. 

Omen seems to have a difficult time accepting this revelation, then he smiles, a little guiltily.

“You are. You were worried about me. Thank you.”

I resist the urge to glare at him. Stupid aura reading demon. Though I guess turn about is fair play. At least I can read his too. 

Honestly I don’t know how regular humans function without access to auras. I’d be a right paranoid mess without getting that kind of constant, instant feedback. … More paranoid… bigger mess.

“Yeah, well, it seems the thing to do around here.” 

I’ve certainly never worried more in my entire life. I’m not a worrier, I’m a doer. 

“You don’t need to worry. I’m fine, I’m-” he hesitates, but thank the holy stars or whatever, he continues because my patience for this crap is soooooo at an end. “I’m looking for someone.” 

He says it quietly, like it’s a secret.

Okay. This has the potential to be terrible, but then so do most things. Particularly when demons are involved. 

He scans my face, waiting as though he expects a response.

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you looking for?”

He doesn’t answer, staring at me for a moment more before glancing at Ezra’s shop door, then back at me as he steps away, mouth tight. 

…what the fuck, dude? Why can’t you just stay chill for five minutes? Is it because I said I’d bite?

“She’s probably not in there then. I should get going. It’s- it’s nice to see you again.” He moves to leave, but I feel the swell of his aura, see the wisps of flame trailing about his hair and ears, and he’s… about to lose his shit.

“Omen!” I snap, my hand on my sword.

Surprisingly, he stops, and turns to face me, and yeah, he’s definitely losing control, he’s sprouting off flames like a candelabra from hell. Literally.

“What can I do to help you get your shit together? What do you need?” I ask quickly, because I really, really, don’t want to have to fight him. Especially not right here. If Ezra saw…

He extinguishes in the blink of an eye, his aura quickly fading back into something recognizable as an aura instead of that swelling, imposing, pressure on my psyche. I don’t let go of my sword, not yet. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, arms limp at his sides. 

I’m frustrated because I don’t want him to be sorry. I want him to not burst into flames with his demonic aura hanging out in the middle of fucking town. He’s going to cause a fucking riot, and that’s the last thing we need right now. 

I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Gods, holding back Hunter instincts is fucking brutal. 

I take another deep breath and let go my sword, so I can maybe have a heart to heart with a demon, because I’m fucking crazy now apparently.

“Omen, I’m gonna be honest with you. I like you. I don’t want you to get hurt. But you _can’t_ lose control. At least not here, where there’s people you might hurt by accident, or people who will freak out and call the Enforcers, and then you’ll get hurt.” 

I give him a stern look, “So, thank you for leaving when you’re freaking out, but you need to leave _before_ freaking out next time. Or smoke some demon weed or something, I know you guys gotta have something like that. Or ask for help, or literally anything, except bursting into flames,” I wave my hand at him widely, “and all that.”

Once again, how did this guy manage to not get himself killed yet? 

He nods at me miserably, and runs off, and I feel like a kicked a puppy, even though that ‘puppy’ was big, on fire, and in general, being a bit too demony for the average townsperson and paranoid Hunter to handle. 

Demons belong in hell, if he wants to live here, he’s going to have to tamp down on that and keep it tamped down. 

Which is kinda sad. I can’t imagine having to stuff myself into some tiny mortal role if I was in fact an ancient, immortal, creature who in general doesn’t even need a body. But I mean, I don’t know why Omen chose to come here. Maybe it’s still better than what he left. 

Well, that makes sense, since he left HELL. What kind of demon is he anyway??

I huff and decide to leave it for now. I have a bath with my name on it at the Wolf. 


	13. Chapter 13

I go to headquarters before the sun sets, intent on checking out the training room while I wait for everyone but the night shift to head out. There’s no hiding going in and out of headquarters, at least, not by any means I know of. And if I went at night, there’d be the added risk of running into a certain vampire and having to shake him, which would be an added variable I really don’t need right now. The fewer people involved, the more likely I get out alive. 

I get all sweaty and gross again while training, but it feels good to get a workout, and headquarters has running water, although only cold, which means I can rinse off in a quick shower. Very quick. With the water only at a dribble. Because anything else in winter is torture, let me tell you.

I dry off, and toss my towel in a laundry bin before getting back into my uniform. I hadn’t bothered taking off my leg, just kept it out of the flow of the water, and I’m ready to take my life in my hands and attempt to steal from, and confront, August Willenheim. 

I’ve considered at length, _how_ to confront Willenheim. It seems unlikely that I’ll be able to get in and out before they notice. If I do, it would be a very close thing, I’m certain of it. I’m not exactly the quick and nimble, easy to miss, type. Which means, I need to be ready to face them, hopefully at least after I have proof in my hands. 

I head toward Willenheim’s office like I have a purpose, because that’s the only reason I’d ever be here without being called in. Trying to hide in the shadows will only make me look like I’m doing exactly what I’m doing. 

I’ve brought a lock pick set with me, just in case, but I thankfully don’t need it. I’m not very good with them, and I’d probably be better served by giving the door handle a massive yank and just wrenching the lock out right out. The door’s pretty sturdy, but it’s not like it’s _mahogany_ or something. 

I could play it off as accidental Hunter strength and stamina. The underlings would think I’m cool as hell while the bosses sigh over irresponsibility and property damage. I could totally make it work. But, uh, I don’t need to. Which is good. 

I shut and lock the door, then head straight for the filing cabinet. I have my senses all on high alert, cast out as wide as I can cast them while I rifle though the files, forcing myself to bypass a large file with Piper’s name on it, intensely focused on my goal. 

I’m just about to give it up as a lost cause, when a flash of red at the bottom of the cabinet, catches my eye. 

My heart leaps when I pull it out and see Aya Walker’s name, along with a big red stamp spelling out TREASON. But as I rifle through it, there’s no explanation of what she actually did, just a recommendation letter so glowing I don’t bother reading it all the way through, her records that I briefly scan for anything out of the ordinary, and information stating she was arrested and put in the dungeons. The bottom signed by no other than August Willenheim. 

There’s no time for disappointment.

I sit down in the chair across from August’s desk, folding up the papers and put them in my inner shirt pocket, the one they’d have to be inappropriate in order to get their hands into. Then I light myself a smoke, leaning back in the chair in a sprawl, my legs taking up all the space between the chair and the desk, and wait. For like, maybe three seconds.

The door busts open, slamming against the wall without warning and revealing August in a state of glory I’ve never seen before, magic swirling over their skin, their eyes glowing with a slight, unnatural sheen at the same time the room lights up with magic, swirls of it twisting throughout the room. 

I’m startled despite the fact that I’d been expecting them _literally_ at any moment, just barely keeping it out of my body language, except for a raised eyebrow. 

They snuck past all my Hunter senses that I’d put out just to catch them, even though they’re quite obviously freaking out. It’s really impressive. See why I don’t have any desire to fuck around with them?  
  
“What are you doing?” they snap. Their gaze immediately zeroes in on my lit blunt. “And why the hell are you smoking in my office?”

As I’d hoped, they’re so perturbed by the thought of smell of pot on their stuff, that they barge into the room to open a window, breaking the tension of our stand off, and glaring at me poisonously all the while. 

Rich snobs are so predictable sometimes. And now they aren’t between me and the door. Go me. 

“You had better have a good explanation for all this, Hunter Lachesis.” 

Their magic has calmed down enough that they aren’t lighting up anymore, thank goodness, because it makes my skin crawl, no matter how pretty it is.  
  
“I do,” I reply calmly, feeling a little smug, as I politely exhale in the direction of the open window. 

August glares all the more because I don’t get up and hover by it as would be more polite, but I ignore it. We have way bigger problems. 

“You might want to sit down.” I say, casually gesturing toward their chair with a couple fingers not holding my smoke. 

“I believe I’ll stand, as this is my damn office, and I want you out of it as quickly as possible. I’ll decide what your punishment will be tomorrow after taking into account whatever it is you have to tell me, so it had better be good.”

I take another toke and exhale before responding. 

“I don’t know what your definition of good is anymore, August,” I pin them with a sharp and utterly Hunter look. “After all, if you don’t like what I have to say, I might wind up like Aya Walker.”

Leave it nice and open ended. They might fill in some blanks for me. 

August makes an awful noise, stumbling back as they waver on their feet, all the color leaving their face at once. 

I don’t move, and they clutch at the edge of their desk to steady themselves before walking around it and falling into their chair. 

Almost before they finish sitting down, they jump back up and rushing across the room to lock the door. Standing in front of it their hand still on the knob, they finally respond.

“How do you know- How did you hear about that?” they croak, their voice sounding like they’re holding sobs in their throat. 

I feel a brief moment of pity for them, before I remind myself I don’t know _why_ they’re scared. Not yet.

I narrow my eye them, irritated by their response, and not only because I’d been hoping for a hint of Aya’s fate beyond, ‘disappeared,’ some defensive, ‘I didn’t have anything to do with her death!’ or something like that. Oh well, can’t win every time. And now they’re between me and the door again. Ugh.  
  
“Don’t waste your breath asking questions about sources,” I snap, “I have no reason to tell you. If you want help getting out of this fucking mess, tell me everything I need to know. If you don’t, go ahead and arrest me, or zap me into a pile of ash, or whatever nasty shit you’ve been up to. Just get it over with, cause I’m beyond fucking done playing around.” 

I sit up straight, tossing my blunt out the window to emphasize my point. And to empty my hands… just in case.

“I haven’t-” they say, shaking their head helplessly, as they thankfully return to their chair. They sit back down, hands trembling in their lap as they close their eyes, taking a deep breath, to regain their composure. “I failed Aya Walker, but I did not harm her.”

I have a signature stating otherwise, but I don’t argue. If it’s true, this goes up, way farther than August. Maybe even right to the top. Not many people could get away with forging a General’s signature, and I can only think of one person August wouldn’t rip to shreds for such a terrible betrayal. 

I sigh heavily. This case is just determined to be the perfect nightmare scenario, like we’re all caught in some murder mystery plot that just has to be as entertaining as possible. The gods must be bored. 

“Then what happened?”

They look me in the eye, “Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”

I can’t feel their aura at all. 

I sigh, scrubbing at my face, “You’re a general, August,” I say, sounding as tired and disappointed as I truly am, “If you don’t know, it means you’ve been derelict in your duty to a degree that’s unconscionable, regardless if you played an active part or not. You don’t get to look away. You don’t get to be weak. Not when you chose to take the job and you could’ve chosen to walk away too.” 

Unlike a Hunter. Ugh, fucking Enforcers.

They wince, but slowly nod in agreement. “You’re right. I failed far more than just Aya.”

I pull out the sash, letting it unfurl as I had when I showed Ezra, curious how they’ll respond. Their eyes go wide, but they don’t startle or react otherwise. 

“Is that-”

“Aya’s Hunter sash.” Their expression is unchanging.

“I see. It’s … bloodied.”

I nod as I hand it to them. They lay it across their gloved palms, studying it intently. 

“It’s pretty ragged. Whatever happened, she put up a fight.”

They frown, lips pursed, obviously perplexed.

“She wasn’t reported to be injured upon her arrest, that much I do know. Something like that wouldn’t be omitted.”

I just roll my eyes, not bothering to point out the trustworthiness of the Enforcers isn’t exactly looking sterling right now. 

“You’re sure this is Aya’s? That it’s her blood?”

“I’m sure.” I state firmly. 

I don’t offer more than that and they just nod absently as they place the sash on their desk. 

They sit behind their desk, looking slightly more themselves, which makes me feel better, even though I’m still not sure where we stand. I don’t want August to be weak, and I know they can be strong. Realizing this, I wonder if I went too far earlier, making it seem like they’d fallen too far to come back from. I don’t think that, not at all. 

“Are you going to put things back to rights, August? Because I’m behind you every step of the way if you are.” 

And I’ll be briefly behind you with a blade if you aren’t, because I don’t take well to traitors to a cause they got to fucking choose. 

I won’t let August claim spectator status, this is too big, too important for them not to do the right thing. Not to mention that generals offing each other in the headquarters office would be impossible to keep a lid on, and Lunaris would have the entire world looking in with a magnifying glass. One way or another, I’m bringing this to a close. I can hope to do so without killing anyone, but I’m prepared to do whatever needs done.

“I have a few confessions to make,” August says quietly.

I almost snarl, because they didn’t answer my question, but I quickly realize August isn’t the type to confess things unnecessarily. If they’re telling me, it means they’ve chosen to trust me. Most likely. I’m still not one hundred percent on board the August trust train just yet. But I guess we’re making progress. This is still a two way trust street, yes August fucked up, but they don’t know me very well, and for all they knew I could’ve ratted them out for trying to own up to it. They’re being incredibly brave, and I need to honor that.

“I’m listening.”

They tell me about the potion they’ve been taking, taking it out of their locked desk drawer, reacting to it’s mere presence in the room like a person dying of thirst would react to a glass of water. It’s agonizing to watch this strong, proud, person being reduced to that so easily, but I know what it’s like. Painkillers had been my beloved poison though. 

They tell me their doubts about the Agency, the Enforcers, we talk about Aya, and Piper. Gods, Piper. I want to smack August upside the head for her. I want to track her down and wake her up to let her know she isn’t alone anymore. But then she’d probably kill me and it would all be for naught. 

But mostly, I’m just sad. Sad that so much good was ruined in this downward spiral, sad that the organization I’d dedicated my life to, was looking fouler than I had imagined under the ‘good guy’ veneer. 

I pull out the arrest warrant along with Aya’s other papers, out of my shirt pocket, placing them on August’s desk. 

“These say she’s in the dungeon. I’m going to come up with a plan to get in there and at the very least, hear her side of the story, if not organize a full rescue party.”

August picks up the papers, cutting to me with a sharp look, “Not even Piper found these. I’m reluctantly impressed. Thank you for returning them. I would have hated for you to suffer the same fate as Piper if you’d been found with them.”

They return the papers to the cabinet, then sigh, as they thoughtlessly slide their hand across the back of their chair. 

“As for your idea of breaking into the dungeon, I cannot authorize it. Not when I know it would put your position in jeopardy. I can’t have a repeat of what happened with Piper, Sepporah.” 

I almost say, ‘fuck my position’ because I’m angry and have a love/hate relationship with my job. But I decide on a better approach.

I smile, and say, “Yeah, but my plan is made up of more than the two words, ‘Kick Ass!,’ unlike some one who is dear to us, even if she totally sucks at making plans.”

August lips tremble as they try not to laugh, even pressing their fingers to their mouth.

“Aw, come on August, just laugh, it’s funny. And you could use a few laugh lines, you’re too fucking pretty.”

That unfortunately distracts them from laughing, as they scoff and roll their eyes instead, a much more familiar gesture, I’m sure. Still, I’ll get them to laugh one day. 

“Just tell me this brilliant scheme you’ve concocted,” they say, waving their hand in irritation.

Puh, like they have any right to be impatient with the rate of sharing information. But I just do anyway, because they’re August, as well as my Enforcer, and I’m excited to tell them because they’re going to hate it. 

I mean, collecting a misfit crew of hooligans to pull off a caper?! This is the stuff of Hunter dreams and Enforcer nightmares. Well, most Hunters probably wouldn’t choose creature misfits, but I’m a cool and flexible person. And also they’re good peeps.

My smile is maybe a little too big as I lay out the basics. August's groans, scoffs, and eye rollings, are everything I’d hoped for. 

***

I smoke as I head back to the Wolf, going over the last little bit August had told me before we parted ways. About their parents, and how they didn’t want this to be their legacy. It sounds like a lot was expected of August growing up, and now they hold themselves to impossible standards, self destructing when they don’t meet them. Or that could just be the stress of it all, I don’t really know. I just hope they stop killing themselves for their damn legacy once this is over. 

Gods, they need to relax. I wonder if I could get them to smoke with me? I’m being serious actually, pot is really helpful for easing people out of addiction. I’ll have to bring it up later. 

I stall in place, blunt still held at my lips. 

I forgot. I forgot there won’t be a later for me. Not here anyway. 

I release the smoke up into the sky, and make myself keep moving even though my body suddenly feels like lead. 

I need to stop doing this. I need to start pulling away, before I get too close and the tearing away rips me to shreds. Caring about injustice and corruption and the affect its having on the people here is one thing, planning bonding/addiction therapy sessions with your boss is another. Not that I’d been making actual plans, but I mean… it would have been nice. Maybe. I guess I can still tell them about it before I go. 

I head inside the Wolf after finishing my smoke, making sure to put away my weapons and clean up properly before bed this time. I even risk taking some clothes off again. 

My mind is still running with all the new information I have when a sharp, quick, pulsing feeling flares in my temple, that familiar presence suddenly looming and lurking.

“I think your man is in some deep shit, James,” I say tiredly, pressing my fingertips against my aching head. 

If he heard me, he doesn’t respond, the presence fading as quickly as it came. 

“Unhelpful, trespassing, bastard,” I growl, punching my pillow into shape. 

I flop down in a huff, yet still manage to drift off to sleep almost before my head hits the pillow.


	14. Chapter 14

The next day is spent collecting my misfits, which is fun, while still being emotionally fraught. 

Piper’s obviously upset about what happened to Aya, unfairly blaming herself, and fairly but unhelpfully, blaming August. Thankfully, it seems like they might be able to work things out. They both seem to want to anyway. She’s of course, ready and raring to go with breaking and entering. She sends me on to Ezra, who I suspected (and hoped) would be my next potential accomplice. 

I enter the shop to find chaos, and my least favorite of the misfits in the middle of it, along with my favorite. Or… double favorite? ‘Cuz, I mean, Finn is cool too… Sometimes. 

But anyway, Omen’s being all tense and nervous, which is normal but his tail is on fire, and I can’t help but to zoom in on it, glaring. 

Ezra’s gesturing frantically, and when I manage to catch his eye, he only throws me a sympathetic look for some reason when it looks like _he’s_ the one currently going through hell. He turns and sweeps through the back curtain, arms full of bandages and potions, after saying something to Omen that causes the demon to turn to me, with his big, brown, puppy eyes that totally have no affect on me. 

“Hey,” I say casually, as I lean against the counter, casually. I mean, he likes Alkar, right? I can do Alkar. Maybe he’ll calm the fuck down. 

“Hello,” he replies quietly, wringing his hands. 

Nope, still on fire. But… I mean, it’s only a little fire. The townspeople can handle a person being a little on fire, right? It’s mostly the aura that really needs to stay where it belongs. But what if I’m wrong? What if… Ugh! Whyyyyy me? Why do I have to care about a demon?!? 

I’m about to call him out, when the flames on his tail settle down, and I can’t help the way my whole body releases the tension I’d been steadily collecting while I worried. 

I smile at him, a genuine and grateful smile, and he smiles back tremulously.

“I’m sorry. I am trying to do better. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“I can see that, thank you.” 

I am truly grateful, because now I can start thinking grossly optimistic things like maybe everything be okay. I mean, probably not, but the possibility is slightly more possible when the town demon isn't glowing with hellfire.

There’s a silence that starts getting tense almost immediately as Omen paces the room, then finally sets down the bandages and stuff he’d been holding on the counter, nervously arranging them.

“Did you find someone injured? Was it the person you were looking for?”

He pulls back from the counter in a rush, stepping between me and the back curtain, and I have to resist the urge to glare and press him for answers. I’m a Hunter. No matter how Omen and I might… like each other… kinda, we’re not naturally on the same side. We’re both having to make difficult decisions about who to trust. So I just wait, and watch.

Omen’s shoulders sag, and he steps back to the counter, a moment later looking shamefaced. Well, we can’t have that. Shame over being distrustful isn’t cool. Being paranoid keeps people alive. _Annoying_ , but alive. 

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you decided you didn’t want to trust me. Hunters and demons don’t exactly have a good history of getting along.” I wrinkle my nose thoughtfully, “Actually, I don’t think Hunters have a history of getting along with _anyone_. We’re a cantankerous bunch.” 

Omen's lips tremble into a barely there smile, “Not as bad as demons.”

I laugh, surprised and pleased, that he managed to joke. His eyes fly to mine, looking shocked that he’d managed to incite something like that. He finally truly smiles, his cheeks even turning charmingly pink. What a _strange_ demon.

He glances back at the drawn curtain.

“Ezra needs space to work his magic. But then… you can meet her.”

Hmm… I’m suddenly suspicious, and send my senses out, my jaw clenching when my fears are confirmed. Another fucking demon. Related to Omen, by the feel of it. I suck in a deep breath, hold it, and let it out through my nose. Omen is once again extremely tense. So am I. 

I want to throw a temper tantrum. I want to throw myself on the floor and scream and bang the floorboards with my fists, and maybe even cry a little. Why is this happening to me?? What did I do to deser- Well, okay, forget that part. I’m kind of a shit person. But still, don’t I have enough to deal with right now?

I cut a sharp gaze to the demon and he withers like it’s _my_ gaze that can set things on fire.

“Did you maybe think this isn’t the best time to have a family reunion?” I snap. 

“I’m sorry,” he says in a rush, and I barely hold back a scathing replay since it seems like he might blurt out something I want to hear. 

“It’s just that our sire- Father, I suppose, he’s- I had to get her away!” 

Ugghhhh… Father troubles. Well, I totally get that. And then there’s the whole hell thing. Stupid demons should just fix their own shitty home and stop coming here and making ours even shittier. But… I get it, I really do. 

“Fine,” I snap, just barely keeping from literally throwing my arms up in the air in surrender. “ But I want information. Who’s your father? Can he come here after you?” I suddenly have a terrible thought about everything that’s been happening lately. The burned bodies… 

“Has he been here?” I ask, sharply.

“No!” he states, vehemently shaking his head. He’s trembling I notice, the flames around his head making a reappearance, and even though I believe him, a sense of dread slips down my spine and sits in my stomach like a cold, hard, rock. But I don’t press. I don’t even reach for my weapon. He needs to handle this, and he needs to trust me. Because if he doesn’t, I can’t trust him either, and this is going to end badly. So I wait.

Omen takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, and pulls himself back under control. I wonder vaguely if Ezra has his shop warded so that he can let loose his aura here without terrifying the populace. It seems likely, but I don’t know, and I’m not changing the subject right now, we need to get this figured out.   
  
“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” he says softly, gaze on the floor. 

“That would be nice,” I respond, nodding, and forcing myself to lean casually against the counter again.

“Two years ago, I came to Lunaris. That is- I came to stay in Lunaris. After a… a disagreement, with my… Father.” 

He’s wringing his hands, and my dread grows, but I force myself to stay relaxed.  
  
“Your people call him Lucifer, I think. The Fallen Divine. The Lord of Hells. He’s our sire.”

I don’t move. I can’t. My stomach dropped to my toes the second he said the word Lucifer, and I’ve been fighting back bile since. When I can finally straighten up from here I was frozen, attached to the counter, and open my mouth without the fear of projectile vomiting, all I can say is.

“WHAT. THE. **FUCK**??!!” shrilly, and at the top of my lungs. 

They probably heard me in Argryia. 

Omen actually fucking cowers, and this time I don’t even have the urge attack, because I’m so beyond… everything! Just! NO! No, fucking way! I can’t seem to blink, my eyes wide and staring at him in horror. 

Then I turn on my heel and barrel out of the shop, because I just… can’t. 

***

By the time Ezra bursts through the curtain, Omen’s standing stock still in the middle of the shop, with Sepporah nowhere to be seen.

“What happened? What’s going on?” he asks, glancing around anxiously, looking for any signs of injury or a fight. 

“Are you okay?” He puts a soothing hand on Omen’s shoulder and the demon starts.

Ezra’s worried about Sepporah as well, but it’s Omen that’s standing here in front of him, and he knows the demon wouldn’t have hurt her. 

Omen sighs sadly, shaking his bowed head, and wrapping his arms around himself. 

“She didn’t take it very well. Learning about who we are.”

Ezra shakes his head, pressing his lips in a thin line, “Your parentage isn’t who you are Omen. Sepporah knows this. She’ll come around, she just needs some time to calm down and think. And we all know she’s good at that,” he teases a little lightly, thinking of how lucky Lunaris is to have such a sharp mind on their side. How lucky _he_ is to… well, now isn’t the time. 

He refocuses on Omen, who’s smiling a little finally.

“She is,” he agrees, nodding. 

Ezra rubs his arm, up and down in a comforting gesture, before squeezing and letting go. 

“Elaine is recovered, if you’re ready to see her.”

Omen nods absently, but then shifts toward the front door. 

“I think I need to take a walk. Clear my head first.”

“Okay,” Ezra nods, “Just, make sure to give Sepporah her time too,” he adds quickly, worried that the demon will seek her out before she’s ready. He’s still learning about mortal ways after all.

“I will. Thank you Ezra.” Omen’s gaze flicks to the back where his sister rests, and then back to the healer. “Thank you for everything.”

Ezra just smiles, “You’re welcome. I’m here for you.”

“And I for you,” the demon says solemnly, before smiling and waving good bye before heading out into the cold.

Ezra takes a deep breath once the door closes behind him, and closes his mouth which had been hanging open. 

It’s… a little overwhelming to have the prince of hell tell you he’ll help you in your hour of need. It feels like a promise, one with a heavy weight behind it. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about it. He’s a proud person, he knows that. Not proud in the same sort of way Gus is, but proud none the less. He offers help freely, but doesn’t accept it freely. 

Still, he appreciates the thought. He smiles, shaking his head as he turns to go back to his patient.

***

I’m too upset to smoke. My hands are shaking, _I’m_ shaking, striding through town without a single thought about where I’m going or what’s around me. 

When I come back to myself I’m in the forest, surrounded by nothing but leaning trees. I sit down at the foot the least creepy one, the underbrush crackling under me, my heels digging into the soft humus under layer, the scent of decaying vegetation rising up around me. 

I lower my head into the cradle of my hands, staring without seeing at the leaf littered ground between my feet. I wish there was someone for me to pray to, someone to help me deal with this. How could there be such creatures below us, with nothing but sky above? Have we been abandoned? Do I even want a divine that lets things like this happen? Who lets us be burned, eaten, turned, corrupted, and dead, dead, dead. 

My body curls into itself as I burst into tears that I can’t hold back, can’t smother, even if I’d had the presence of mind to try. Rocking back and forth, just holding on, as throat scratching, body heaving, sobs, dredge their way up from a bottomless grief I’ve held in my chest as long as I can remember. 

I want my parents. I’ve wanted them all my life and never had them, but I want them now, more than I ever have before. I want the family I never truly had back. I would let this entire town burn, the entire world, if I could have another chance to do it right. If I could hold him in my arms just to say goodbye, finally willing to accept my fate- my judgment. 

The demon wanted me. Because I was too proud to bow, like my parents had, like all the fucking nobles had, trembling in their silk shoes. But I was sixteen years old; beautiful, gifted, _fearless_ , determined that the world would bow to me, not me to it. When the clawed finger pointed at me, I tilted my chin, two, jade green eyes, flashing in defiance, as I crossed my arms over my chest. 

Until my parents pushed me forward.

It was like the world dropped out from under me, leaving me trapped in an airless void. 

I’d never loved them and they’d never loved me, always keeping me dancing at their feet; their beautiful masterpiece and nothing more. But this… my bravery vanished in an instant, bile in my throat, hands trembling. Yet it wasn’t demon that frightened me, I barely remembered he was there. 

When Emery tumbled out of the crowd, small fists already swinging, everything started to echo, time dilating and then coalescing into this one focal point, as if the universe was pausing to watch my baby brother, the darling of no one but me, charging toward Death, a furious scowl on his still chubby face. The demon’s fist, wreathed in flames and raised high, the divine magistrate passing judgment, and like every time I was faced with things that people said must be obeyed, whether it be authority or fate itself - I said no. 

I stepped in front of a thing called divine judgment, and I said more than ‘Not today,’ I said, ‘Not him.’ Not the one person in the whole world I had risked loving. Not the one person who looked at my cold, selfish, _bitter_ , _bitter_ , heart, and saw perfection. Not him. 

It took my sacrifice. And then it took everything else. My head held down by that divine hand, now of retribution, flames licking at my face, while the other took my heart; his cupids bow mouth open wide in surprise, as for the first time, his sister failed to save him. 

I don’t remember anything after that. 

My parents told the director at the Hunter Academy the demon ripped my eye socket clean off of my skull, before tearing through the manor, setting the imported velvet drapes on fire, and knocking over a priceless Aclean vase. They didn’t tell them why the demon had been there in the first place.   
  
They told them about the extensive healing and the expensive bills. About my fencing lessons, the dancing, the horseback riding. An accomplished young lady; a polished addition to the Hunter ranks, they promised, with their fake, white, smiles, and a bag of coin stuffed so full it didn’t even clink. 

Despite a story full of holes and being four years too late, I was accepted. 

They signed the paperwork, thanked the director with more smiles and handshakes, and left. 

I never heard from them again. I never wanted to.

People like to say that there’s a reason for everything, that suffering has a purpose. But what could suffering give me, that my brother could not have? What could suffering teach me, that a person could not do better, _kinder_? 

Suffering has been my teacher for a long time now, so long I barely remember any other. And yet, I remain unbowed. That fatal flaw of pride still entrenched in my soul, and the one person I would have bowed for now long gone. There is no point in bowing my head anymore because it will not bring him back. If I hunted down Omen’s father and bowed with my head to the sulfurous, tainted, floor of hell, it would not bring him back. But I would. If it would, I would. 

My sobs quiet, then finally abate, and I sit in numb silence, my head leaning against the rough tree bark , hair snagging and pulling, but ignored. 

After a few minutes, I glance at the sky and haul myself to my feet. I still have work to do, still have the limits of time to contend with. 

I pull my small canteen off my belt and use the water to scrub the dried tears from my face. As I walk back to town, I stretch my muscles, make sounds that aren’t cries, twist my face into expressions not of grief, and speak recitation lines, pulling myself back into normality.

Once I hit the outskirts of Lunaris, I’m loose limbed and smiling. It’s almost like nothing had happened at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After 40,000-ish words, tragic backstory is now finally revealed!


End file.
